


Learning how to live

by 4815



Series: Learning how [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Neglect, Dark Magic, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Friends to Enemies, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Horcruxes, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-07-04 03:36:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 74,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4815/pseuds/4815
Summary: "Learning how to live" is the first part of the series "Learning how" and will cover Harrys sixth year at Hogwarts.While hunting Horcruxes, dealing with the troubles of growing up, figuring out what he wants to do with his life, making new friends and enemies, struggling to control his magic and trying to escape Dumbledore’s manipulations, Harry learns that things cannot always be divided into good and evil.Harry-Snape-frienship, will turn into slash later on.ON HIATUS





	1. Summer is awful

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic and English is not my first language, so please be patient with me. I will try to upload new chapters every few days (I already have the whole plot outlined), at least until school starts up again. 
> 
> Please review, I’d love to hear what you think :)
> 
> \---  
> A few more things, so you know what to expect:
> 
> \- Slash won't start before Harrys 7th year (only awareness on Harrys side, but nothing happens)  
> \- I still tagged it as Mature because it will be Explicit in the next two parts, but it's probably rather Gen for the first part  
> \- I'm trying to write the story so it will build up slowly  
> \- there will be some Weasley- and Dumbledore-Bashing in the third part of the story 
> 
> And some more background-related things:  
> \- Dumbledore didn’t get hurt when he managed to retrieve the resurrection-stone  
> \- Mr Malfoy was the one who gave Ginny the Diary in second year. However; he didn’t treat Dobby as badly as in the books (just imagine him being really harsh with words instead of hitting the elf). Harry was still the one who freed Dobby.  
> \- There are some more things that are different from canon, but hopefully you will realize that while reading

Learning how to live, chapter 1

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. --

***

Summer after fifth year was a disaster.

A year before, Harry would have said, life at Privet Drive couldn’t get any worse. But he had been wrong. There was always a different sort of awful. And while he did get letters from his friends and they even told him some of what was going on, other things were a whole lot worse.

Ever since Sirius’ death, he didn’t feel like himself anymore. There was this black hole inside of him, swallowing all emotions, all he ever wanted, everything that made him, well, _him_.

In the beginning, he had been angry. Angry at Dumbledore for not telling him about the prophecy, angry at Snape and his useless Occlumency lessons, angry at Bellatrix. But during the grey days in his room at the Dursleys, with no one to shout at and no outlet for his feelings, the anger faded into the background of his mind. It grew, until it was this big black hole, and now it was eating away at him. Some days, he thought, he could actually _feel_ how it chewed pieces out of his soul, his mind, his magic. Other days, he felt nothing but empty.

The Dursleys ignored him mostly – at least after the first week. His uncle had been waiting for him at the station and had not been happy about the order-members threatening him.

At first, Harry had thought his uncle had been too shocked to react and would be afraid enough to let him live in peace for one summer. Then, the whole drive home, Vernon had been muttering about freaks and what an ungrateful boy he was. Harry had started to realize he was in trouble, so he freed Hedwig as soon, as they arrived. Which he was glad for, since all his things got locked up in his old cupboard.

Then his uncle held what he called a _Family Meeting_ in the dining room. It consisted of Vernon and Petunia shouting at him for terrorizing Dudley last summer, being a lazy and ungrateful brat, looking like a criminal with his horrible hair and associating with other freaks. At least they didn’t blame him for the weather. Yet.

Dudley meanwhile didn’t seem any different (his expression was still absurdly stupid, and his midsection had somehow managed to get even more enormous) he was ignoring everyone, watching TV and eating ice-cream.

Harry tried to explain about the Dementors, which didn’t do him any good, rather the opposite. Petunia decided they couldn’t risk the neighbours seeing him doing freaky stuff and he got locked up in his room.

In the beginning, they at least remembered to shove a bottle of water through the claptrap every once in a while, and even gave him some bread or soup.

But after Harry slept more or less through the first two days, his exhaustion vanished, and the nightmares started up again. They always ended with Sirius falling through the veil and Harry shouting his name. His uncle was _not_ impressed being woken up at 4 AM. Most nights ended with Harry being covered with spittle of his shouting uncle and a promise of getting no food for the next few days.

And while all of this wouldn’t have been anything new, the Dursleys somehow managed to forget to tell him, that they would visit aunt Marge for a few days. Only when they didn’t return home that evening and no one was there to let him go to the bathroom did Harry realize, how very much he was imprisoned.

He had never felt more humiliated in his life, when he had to use an empty water bottle and a bucket because he couldn’t go to the loo. He couldn’t even empty them out of his window, since Vernon had made sure to nail it shut. The smell in his room was horrible. It got even worse, when after two days with no water, he started to fear, he would have to drink his own fluids if he didn’t want to die of thirst. It was way too warm, the stale air and the lack of water and food made him seriously consider the possibility of him dying. His mind was brought back to the time he lived in the cupboard, locked up with the walls coming closer until he felt unable to move or breathe.

But then, thank merlin, the Dursleys came back.

He couldn’t remember ever feeling so grateful for hearing the squeaking of the front door and their loud voices. Usually, he would have been scared about getting some weird punishment for something he didn’t even do. But he couldn’t muster any energy for being scared, even as his aunt screeched about the smell and his uncle dragged him to the bathroom and threw him into the shower.

Well, he survived.

After this first horrible week, Harry decided to try and please his aunt and uncle. Or at least not to irritate them any more than he already did by simply existing.

He did all the chores without muttering a word, tried to be polite and stayed out of their ways as much as possible. During the nights, he’d use an old alarm clock of Dudley to wake himself every thirty minutes. He had soon figured out that, like this, he wouldn’t wake up screaming from nightmares.

It worked, at least somewhat. The Dursleys left him alone, except to tell him about his chores. Even Dudley couldn’t find much enjoyment in taunting him now, that this didn’t get any reaction out of him.

Harry felt proud of himself for achieving something like a truce with his relatives. Maybe it still wasn’t _nice_ – as if Privet Drive could _ever_ be nice – but at least he felt he behaved more like an adult. And he knew he could take it. Next summer he would turn seventeen and he would be able to leave and never look back.

At the same time, Harry felt as if all the anger he was supposed to feel was fed to the black hole inside of him. When he was really tired or hungry, he started seeing shadows out of the corners of his eyes. While he suspected, he was simply seeing things because he was exhausted, he couldn’t help but start feeling a bit paranoid.

It didn’t feel like Voldemort was sending him visions. His scar didn’t hurt, and he never blacked out. It felt more like accidental magic, or maybe like his magic was changing. He didn’t know if such a thing was possible, but it sure felt like it. As much as he tried to ignore it, it didn’t seem to get any better.

But it wasn’t like he could do anything. And he definitely didn’t want to write his friends about it, he could just imagine what they would say. While Hermine would pester him about telling Dumbledore, Ron would write something like _Boah mate, sounds weird. Maybe you just need to sleep more?_ Which wouldn’t help at all (Besides, it was always a gamble, if Vernon would let the owls deliver the letters – he didn’t want to risk him refusing Harry any contact by making an owl wait for a reply).

And somehow Harry couldn’t help but feel just a little bit gleeful about not telling Dumbledore. He knew this wasn’t very mature of him. But he was so fed up with people knowing more about him than he himself did. And Dumbledore seemed so very sure, that he was some weird figurehead of the light and that love was his strongest weapon. Well, after Sirius’ death, Harry was certain that this couldn’t be true. He didn’t feel good or pure or _light_ at all.

He liked to imagine what would happen, if he turned into a dark wizard. He could just picture how people would look at him. Maybe then they would realize that he wasn’t just a chess piece to shove around. That he didn’t want to be a perfect Gryffindor Golden-Boy. He was just a fifteen-year-old teenager – wasn’t he supposed to be able to depend on adults?

And yet he also knew, that he wasn’t a regular teenager and had never been one. Everything that had happened, had forced him to grow up in a different way than his peers. All he wanted, was for things to be over so he could finally start to live for real. Right now, he didn’t have the time or energy for all the stuff other guys his age seemed to be thinking about. And not just because of the prophecy. No matter how much he didn’t want to be a figurehead of the light, it would be up to him to battel Voldemort in the end; simply because everyone expected it of him. Not doing so, would end up with people losing hope and Voldemort winning – and no matter how much he wanted to prove everyone wrong, this was something he couldn’t allow to happen.

***

Two weeks after Harrys birthday, Dumbledore showed up in his bedroom, wearing a monstrosity of a purple suit and told him, he would spend the rest of the holidays with his friends. Then he called Kreacher and made sure, Harry truly did inherit everything from Sirius. And Harry in turn gave the Order permission to continue using Grimmauld Place as their headquarters.

Because, really, he couldn’t truly say he wanted the house to himself now, could he? Even if he did get really angry; because they should have told him before and they didn’t have any right to assume he would be fine sharing the things Sirius had left him.

But that was just for a short moment. Then the anger vanished, and he felt– well, nothing really. And there wasn’t any other option than agreeing with Dumbledore. It was, after all, the adult thing to do.

Dumbledore escorted Harry to Grimmauld Place. He told Harry again, how very sorry he was about Sirius and everything else that had happened, what a wonderful boy he, Harry, was and that he needed to be strong, that a war always demanded sacrifices. Harry smiled and said that he would be fine.

***

When Dumbledore had finally left, Harry took a deep breath and leaned his head against the wall. He had expected to be happy to be back in the magical world. But all he felt was tired. He knew everyone else was in the kitchen since it was already past six when dinner was usually served. It would be full of people and light and warmth. He had the vague wish to sneak up into his room and avoid everyone.

He shook his head and balled his hands into fists until his fingernails dug into his skin. He _was_ fine. He’d had his break; weeks of self-pity and depression. Now he would pull himself together and be Harry Potter again.

He rummaged around in his trunk until he found his wand and stuffed it into a pocket of his baggy jeans. Then he shoved the heavy thing against the wall, so people could still pass through, and made his way to the kitchen. He would take his things upstairs after dinner, when he hopefully wouldn’t feel so tired and empty anymore.

The door to the kitchen was ajar and he could hear people arguing. Ron and Ginny were protesting against something and Mrs Weasley shouting hysterically to be heard over their voices.

“–YOUR MOTHER AND YOU WILL DO AS YOU ARE TOLD, RONALD WEASLY!”

“IT WASN’T HIS BLOODY FAULT!”, shouted Ron right back and Harry could all too well imagine how read his head must be right now.

He didn’t have to wonder for long who they were talking about when Mrs Weasley screeched: “YOU COULD HAVE DIED! YOU WON’T BE GOING ON ANY MORE ADVENTURES, NO MATTER WHO IS IN TROUBLE! THERE IS A REASON WHY THE ORDER IS FOR ADULTS!”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. Were they talking about what happened at the Ministry? Did they think it was his fault? That would certainty explain why he hadn’t gotten the usual food package from Mrs Weasley. He leaned his head against the wall again and closed his eyes. The thought of sneaking upstairs before anyone saw him was suddenly much more appealing.

“Mum, we are at war”, said a different voice, way calmer than the others and Harry guessed it belonged to Bill. “These are dangerous times no matter what you do. You can’t protect them from everything. It’s better they learn to defend themselves than not.”

 “Even Dumbledore– “, began Ginny, but Molly snapped “THAT’S ENOUGH! I don’t care what Albus bloody Dumbledore– “

“ _Molly_!”, chided Arthur and Harry had never heard his voice so grave.

There was a tense silence and for a moment Harry feared, they had realized he was standing right outside. He had an image in his mind of what Vernon would have done were he caught listening in on a conversation and he tensed up. But no one came to get him and there was no rebuke or slap on his head. Right. He wasn’t at Privet Drive anymore.

“You will listen to me or you’re not going back to Hogwarts at all.” It seemed like Mrs Weasley had spoken her final word and no one answered.

The clanking and rattling of dishes and cutlery and bowls filled the silence. Dinner smelled delicious and Harry knew he should eat, but he couldn’t bring himself to enter the kitchen. How was he supposed to behave like everything was fine, when he felt as if everything– No. That wasn’t right. He wasn’t really feeling anything at all.

And Mrs Weasley was right. It was, at least partially, his fault what had happened in the Department of Mysteries.

He didn’t feel hungry anymore.

The shadows seemed to creep towards him and he closed his eyes. He needed to get out of here. As quietly as possible he went to grab his trunk and heaved it upstairs to the room he usually shared with Ron. He would use the same bed as last Christmas, or at least he assumed so, since there were only Rons things in here.

What if Mrs Weasley wouldn’t want him to sleep in the same room as her son anymore? But he couldn’t really imagine that; she was probably only insisting Ron and Ginny wouldn’t accompany Harry on any more of his stupid adventures. And that was better anyway. He didn’t want anything happening to them and things had gotten way too dangerous since Voldemort was back.

Not in the mood to unpack, he lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was made of wood and had probably been painted black a long time ago. Now it was more of a dark grey and in the corner above his head were some neon-yellow splatters of one of the twin’s experiments.

He sighed. It’s not like he ever liked Grimmauld Place. The house was just too dark and creepy and unfriendly for any normal human being – except maybe Bellatrix or Snape. But now it seemed somehow dead.

At least he would be able to use the bathroom here whenever he wanted.

Maybe it just seemed so glum because he knew Sirius would never again bounce through the door to drag him out to rummage through all the curious things in the cellar or grumble about the portrait of his mother or sing Christmas songs in horrible wrong tunes or take him to his room to show him pictures of his parents. He wouldn’t do anything again. Ever.

Sirius was dead. _Dead._

Harry didn’t feel like this had really gotten through to him.

Or maybe it had. But he thought he should feel different. Shouldn’t he still be crying? Sure, at first, he had been angry and then depressed. And he had cried, at least some. But it had happened not even three months ago – wasn’t he supposed to still be grieving? He didn’t feel anything when he thought about Sirius now. Just some vague pain, more like a dull ache.

Well, there wasn’t really anyone he could ask. Maybe Remus, but then again Harry hadn’t heard from him except for the short note he had gotten right after Sirius’ death. And he didn’t think Ron or Hermine would understand.

“Sirius is dead”, he told the ceiling.

Nothing happened. Not even the black shadows crept towards him.

“It was my fault.” Still nothing. He was still tired and exhausted and empty and cold and–

He sat bolt upright when he remembered Phineas’ Portrait. It wouldn’t do for the cranky former Headmaster to report to Dumbledore how Harry Potter was losing his mind and talking to himself. His heart beating rapidly, he stared at the black canvas. Only when the portrait remained empty for the next minute and the ceiling didn’t come down on him, did Harry start to calm down.

He really would have to remember that stupid thing. It probably wouldn’t work to cover it with something or put it someplace else since Phineas would just tell Dumbledore. And Harry didn’t want the Headmaster to start questioning what Harry was up to.

Not that he was actually up to anything.

He just needed time. Alone. Things would work out, they always did. Maybe he would be able to use Regulus’ old room when he needed some time alone? They hadn’t cleaned it during Harrys last stay and he remembered it to be full of dust and creepy old furniture. No one would look for him in there; if anything, they would expect him to be in Sirius’ room.

Harry somehow hade a vague feeling of shame and guilt when he imagined himself hiding while people were looking for him. But it seemed more of a shadow of what he would have felt last year than what he actually felt. He had changed. Last summer he would have confided in his friends and found comfort in their company. Now it made him nauseous just thinking about pretending to be the person he was last year.

Maybe he should talk to someone and things would go back to normal. It couldn’t be so bad, could it? It had been the same every year up until now; he would return from Privet Drive and had to slip back into his Harry-Potter-persona.

And deep down he knew his friends wouldn’t want him to be alone. They would help him if he asked and they would try their best to understand him. But then again, it wasn’t like they could do anything to make things better – and he really wasn’t in the mood to let them distract him from his thoughts. He didn’t want to be distracted at all, rather the opposite. He wanted to feel sad or angry or _anything_ really. Better than this emptiness.

And besides, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Being already sixteen, surely, he was entitled to some amount of privacy? He’d always handled stuff like this by himself – why should he start to change that?

When he heard the others leave the kitchen and make their way upstairs he lay down again and turned on his side to face the wall. He would just feign sleep and talk to everyone tomorrow.

His plan was ruined just a few moments later when the door burst open and flew against the wall with a loud BANG. Harry startled so bad there was no way he could pretend to be asleep. The portrait of Sirius mother started screeching and he took a deep breath to calm himself.

“HARRY!”

He barely sat upright before Hermiones arms were wrapped around him, nearly suffocating him.

“Hi ‘Mione”, he mumbled through her bushy hair and managed to grin back at Ron, who was standing near the door and beaming at him.

“Hi mate – did you just arrive? We were told Dumbledore would drop you off here right before dinner.” Ron seemed to have grown again and had to avoid bumping his head against the chandelier as he made his way over to his own bed.

“Yeah, I just got here.” Harry felt guilty about lying but decided it would be better this way. “’thought I would put my stuff in here before coming down – less chance of Tonks stumbling over it.”

He and Ron shared another grin and Harry knew things would be easy with his best friend.

“Oh Harry, you look awful!” Hermione exclaimed when she pulled back to look him over with a worried frown on her forehead.

He managed to get away from her hands which had still held on to his shoulders and tried his best to plaster a mock-hurt pout on his face. “Well thank you! Always nice to hear.”

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and she looked as if she wanted to grab him again. “Seriously, Harry – what happened to you?”

Two loud CKRACKS saved him from answering, when the twins plopped down on his bed on either side of him.

“That’s our Hermione– “

“–always serious– “

“–and charming– “

“–telling little Harrykins right what he wants to hear!”

“Oh, shut up you two.” Hermione rolled her eyes and sat down beside Ron. To Harry, she continued in a whisper so loud everyone could hear it, “dropping out of school really didn’t do them any good – they’re annoying the daylights out of everyone here.”

“Ah, we feel hurt our dear Hermione!”, exclaimed Fred or George (Harry still couldn’t tell them apart) in a tragic voice. “But you understand us– “

“–our soulmate in crime, Harry Potter the Benevolent– “

“–oh, great sponsor of mischief– “

“–oh wonder– “

Harry gave one of the twins a kick with his foot and threw the other one a pointed glare. Ron still didn’t know what he had done with the money he’d won from the tournament and he wanted it to stay that way. “Oh, I understand alright. What are you guys doing now anyway? Are you still working on your products?”

“They have a shop in Diagon”, explained a voice from the door and Harry nearly goggled when he saw Bill standing in the doorway. His hair was still long, and he looked– well Harry wasn’t sure how exactly, but he had to fight the blush that was rising to his cheeks. “You should see it – they are really successful with their business. Mum’s going crazy about it.”

“Yeah, we have to go to the shop when we go get our things in Diagon!”, agreed Ron enthusiastically. But then Ginny stormed through into the room, shoving Bill inside in the process and slammed the door behind her.

She was fuming and glaring daggers which even made the twins hunch their shoulders. “We’re not going to Diagon _at all._ Mums gone crazy! I can’t take it anymore, she– “

“What? What are you talking about? We have to get our school books and everything!” Ron looked like someone had just told him Christmas would be cancelled this year. And it definitely wasn’t because of the books.

Just when Ginny wanted to continue her rambling, Bill held up a hand and then started to cast silencing spells. At Harrys questioning look he threw him a nervous smile. “Better this way, believe me. If she catches us talking about the war again we will never hear the end of it.”

Bill moved over and sat down on Harrys school trunk when another, deafening CRACK let the walls tremble. This time, everyone startled, and that was about the last Harry saw before everything went black.

“What the hell?”, Ron howled, while Bill shouted at the same time, “Damn! Fred, George, when will you learn to put your blasted experiments on stasis!”

The twins started to laugh, then there was the dull THUMP of someone toppling to the floor, followed by shattering glass and a panicked hiss.

Ginny shrieked, and Hermione howled in pain, “Ow! Crookshanks!”

Meanwhile Harry pressed his back against the wall and couldn’t move. Some part of him knew he was being silly, but he was scared stiff and couldn’t breathe. Everything was black, and he couldn’t see, it was too dark, and he couldn’t fucking _see_ anything, and the air was too dry and dusty, and he couldn’t _breathe_.

Harry hit the back of his head against the wall and forced himself to calm down. No one else seemed to panic, so things had to be fine. And he was fine, too. He was at Grimmauld Place and stuff like this was supposed to be _normal._ Damn it, he needed to get a grip on himself.

“Just one moment, ladies and gentlemen–

“–may we present– “

“–the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder!”

“Neutralized by a pinch of powdered Mooncrystal!”

Something sizzled through the air and the lights went back on. The smell of varnish remover hung heavy in the air with an underlying note of sulphur.

The twins were only ones who had gotten away unscathed. Ron was blinking rapidly and rubbing at bloodshot eyes, Bill lay sprawled on the floor, the shards of a mug beside him and Ginny was hanging on to Crookshanks and tried to untangle his claws from where they were stuck in Hermiones skirt.

 “Hold still, Ronnikins.” Fred pointed his wand at Ron and muttered a cleaning charm.

Meanwhile George shook a vial filled with light-blue powder which seemed to emit a faint sizzling sound whenever it glittered. “Doxy-wing-powder is rather nasty stuff. But dead useful.”

They were grinning over both ears and staring expectantly at everyone, but Ron was the only one who asked, voice full of envy, “Can I get some? That would come in really handy if we had to run from Filch or Snape. Or Malfoy and his crew – imagine their faces!”

“Sure, little brother– “

“five Sickles for a hunk of Instant Darkness Powder. The Mooncrystal is not for sale, yet – you can’t imagine the trouble we went through to collect it!”

“What? Can’t you give me a discount?”

“And why would we do that?”

“I’m your brother!”

“Right – so eight Sickles for the hunk.”

Meanwhile Hermione was still trying to get free of Crookshanks claws, Bill was cleaning up the shards and Ginny grumbling something about the timing of pranks.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to relax. His breathing was way too fast, and he was sure his hands would tremble, where he to try and do something.

He needed to calm down.

Fuck.

Things really couldn’t go on like this. He felt like he was losing it and he just knew, if he were to open his eyes, he would be able to see the black shadows creeping closer.

Weren’t things supposed to be better now that he was back?

And they were. They really were. He had his friends around him and the room was full of bickering and laughter and joy and so very _different_ from his nightmares. Or his life at the Dursleys.

He tried to imagine how Petunia would react to the Instant Darkness Powder. The picture didn’t quite manage to make him smile, but at least it was a good distraction.

“Harry?” Hermione sounded cautious, as if he were a wild animal. The room had gone quiet, he realized, and he snapped his eyes open. “Are you... Maybe you should eat something?”

He wanted to snarl, but he managed a strained smile instead. “I’m fine, Hermione, _really._ Let off, will you?”

She nodded and sent him a look which made clear she wasn’t convinced and would simply wait until they were alone.

Harry wanted to hit something.

“Sooo.... where were we?”, asked Ron and cleared his throat. “Ginny, you wanted to tell us why mum decided we wouldn’t go to Diagon Alley after all?”

Ginny hesitated only for a second, before she started ranting again. At least she did it without screeching this time. “Tonks just came in to report. There has been another raid today, they destroyed Florean Fortescues shop and Mum thinks it’s way too dangerous for us to go there. As if we were little kids! And she thinks the Death Eaters are just waiting for Harry to show up. She doesn’t trust the Aurors the ministry would send along, says those people are just hoping for a fight so they can arrest someone. Now she wants to owl order everything this year. Since Madam Malkins has this new offer of home visits, she doesn’t see any reason to go to Diagon.”

“Did anyone...?” Hermione was pale and didn’t finish her question, but she didn’t need to.

“Die?” Ginny shook her head. “No. Florean and his family had been out while it happened. Thank merlin for that.”

The twins looked at each other and nodded, their faces unusually grim. “Well kiddos, seems like we’ll have to take our leave.”

“What?”, Ron squawked and then cleared his throat. He was unusually green around his nose. “You’re not seriously saying you’re going to the shop now, right?”

Harry wanted to agree with him but shut his mouth when he saw George grin a Snape-worthy grin. “Don’t worry. Our shop is layered with traps against intruders – if they are stupid enough to enter, there will not be much left of them so scrap off of the floor. And we have to see if we can help the other shopkeepers.”

“If worse comes to worst, we still have emergency-Portkeys”, added Fred.

They said quick goodbyes and left. Bill decided to go downstairs to ask the other adults for more details and Ginny went to her own room, mumbling about a letter she had to answer, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione to themselves. Since they weren’t allowed to do magic, they couldn’t ward the door again and hat to speak in hushed tones. But the easy atmosphere was gone anyway. It felt as if the war was already on their doorstep.

“How bad is it really?”, Harry asked, trying to catch his friends’ eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Harry, but–” Hermione gulped and looked as if she had to brace herself. “But Professor Dumbledore made us promise to not write anything important. They think our owls are being intercepted.”

“Oh.” He felt bad seeing how apprehensive Hermione was and realized he must have been quite the prat last year, screaming at them as if it was their fault. And yet, he couldn’t help but still feel a bit betrayed, even if he thought he should know better by now. “Don’t worry, guys, I... I don’t like it, but I _do_ get it... I just don’t understand why Dumbledore insists on me being at Privet Drive for so long where I can do absolutely nothing”, he added and tried to sound not too venomous.

She shook her head. “I know Harry, and sometimes I wonder, too. But it’s probably for the best; you would just worry and still not be able to do anything. And he must have his reasons.”

“Like Mum has her reasons to forbid us entering the Order?” Ron had a scowl on his face. “We’re not kids anymore. And this is our war, too.”

“But she’s worried about you!”, Hermione exclaimed. “Of course, she doesn’t want her kids being put into danger!”

Harry decided to intercept their bickering while he still could. “So: you wanted to tell me what happened while I was away?”

The two glared at each other before Ron turned to him. “That’s kind of the problem. No one really knows what You Know Who is up to – well, except taking over Britain. But no one heard anything of him. The Ministry and the Order have their hands full with all the raids, but those are just carried out by low-level Death Eaters. And they don’t have any useful information.”

“Professor Dumbledore suspects You Know Who is trying to recruit more forces”, added Hermione. “So, the Order sent out messengers to the Werewolves and Giants. But they don’t think it will help much since the Ministry doesn’t want to change the laws for half-humans.”

That didn’t sound good. Harry remembered Dumbledore telling Fudge to remove the Dementors from Azkaban. “But surely they know that whatever promises Voldemort makes are just lies?”

“They are considered Dark Creatures for a reason, mate. They _want_ a war because they enjoy fighting and–”, Ron started explaining, before Hermione interrupted him.

“It doesn’t matter as long as people look down on them and don’t give them any rights.” She threw Ron a haughty look. “They are angry at the wizarding world – they don’t care much about what he promises them, as long as they can get their revenge.”

“It’s not that simple, Hermione – this may be true for the half-bloods, but not for other creatures”, Ron corrected her annoyed. Harry realized that his friend had actually done some growing up over the summer. “Take the Dementors for example: they will just follow whoever promises them the most souls. So, the Ministry would have to lock them up somehow. But that would require people guarding them with Patronus’ – and the Ministry simply doesn’t have enough Aurors for that.”

“Well, crap.” The idea of a battle against Death Eaters was bad enough. But Giants and Werewolves and Dementors and who-knew-what-else would be ten times worse. “So, Voldemort really is planning for an all-out war. And we probably won’t stand a chance like this.”

The others didn’t agree out loud, but their looks spook volumes.

“Dumbledore has some kind of plan”, Ron started, when Hermione cleared her throat pointedly. “What? He will figure it out anyway.”

“What will I figure out?”, Harry asked.

“It shouldn’t be up to him”, she said to no one in particular, looking sad. “But you’re probably right.”

Ron leaned towards him, staring intently. “Dumbledore is travelling most of the time – we think he’s looking for something. And we overheard the Order talking. It has something do with you. They think it’s something that will help you defeat You-Know-Who.”

So much for normality. It seemed time to tell the two about the prophecy _._ Harry took a deep breath and braced himself for the explosion that was sure to follow.

***

Later that night, Harry lay on his bed and stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

He’d told his friends about the prophecy and they had promised not to tell anyone. _It could have gone worse_ , he mused. Hermione had looked at him with pitying eyes and Ron had had an unhealthy greenish colour to his face by the time he’d finished recounting what had happened in Dumbledore’s office. When they tried to promise him their help, he had explained them that it wouldn’t be possible. He had argued that, since the prophecy was about him and Voldemort, it had to be him – and that he would have to do things alone.

The lie had come more easily to him than he would have thought. Mrs Weasleys words had still rung in his head, together with the knowledge of the raids and the upcoming war. And it wasn’t like he didn’t understand what Mrs Weasley meant. He did somehow always end up right in the middle of the worst kind of trouble (he could easily make a list of people who would agree with that – a _long_ list). And things were bound to get even worse with the prophecy. It truly would be safer for everyone if they stayed away from him.

Yet he still felt betrayed, somehow. He was probably being childish; it wasn’t as if they’d decided to exclude him from the Weasley family or anything like that. Was it? And was he even part of them to begin with? He knew Ron always said so; but then again, people said a lot of things to make other people feel better.

He sighed.

Ron must have heard him. There was the sound of rustling sheets and then he whispered, “Harry? Are you still awake?”

“Yeah?” It was no use pretending to be asleep. Ron would just ask again and again until he would be awake even if he had been asleep.

“You know...” There was a pause, as if Ron wasn’t sure how to say whatever he wanted to say. _That_ was unusual. “You know we’re there for you, right? I mean, no matter what Mum says, we’re still going to be with you, whatever happens.”

Harry cleared his throat. It was strange to have a conversation like this with Ron of all people and he wasn’t sure if he was comfortable about it. “She’s right, you know. Things have gotten way more dangerous. And I don’t want anything to happen to any of you.”

There was a silence so long, he started to wonder if Ron was angry and ignoring him or had fallen asleep.

Then Ron sat upright, and Harry could feel his intense stare, even if he could only see his outline in the dark. “I know how dangerous things are now with You Know Who back and all. And Hermione and Ginny know that too. But we will still stand with you. And before you try to stop us: this isn’t really your choice to make.”

Harry wanted to snort and tell him, that _they_ had never faced Voldemort, just Death Eaters, and that it wasn’t them who had a loony prophecy hanging over their heads. But he couldn’t, because Ron was right. It wasn’t his choice. And he really needed his friends. “I... Thanks.”

“Good”, Ron nodded and lay back down. “I would hate to get left behind.”

Neither of them said anything after that and soon after, Rons snores started to fill the room. Harry stayed awake for a bit longer, but for once, he didn’t even think about the shadows.

***

Thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)


	2. Grimmauld Place

Learning how to live, chapter 2

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. --

***

Like every other time they’d been at Grimmauld Place, they spent a most of the time cleaning. The ground level and most bedrooms on the upper floors were cleared and safe if you knew how to handle them. They also had three bathrooms they could use and of course the kitchen and sitting-room next to it, as well as the room with the horrible family tree, the library and a second sitting-room on the first floor.

Some doors had been sealed by Sirius and they didn’t dare open those at all. Harry made a mental note to himself to take care of them once he finished school. The house did belong to him now after all, and he would be damned if he couldn’t make it habitable. Even if it would take time. A lot of time.

There were still all kinds of creatures infesting the old rooms, and trinkets which would curse you if you so much as looked at them the wrong way.

Ginny stumbled over a mirror which screeched at her and dyed her hair black – much to the amusement of the twins. But unlike in the year before, they didn’t have to smuggle it out of reach of their mother. Now that they had their Very Successful Business, their mother was suddenly all for their dubious inventions.

Not all things they found were merely little pranks. Ron somehow seemed to be a magnet for all the dangerous things. After he nearly got strangled by a pair of curtains the year before, he this time managed to get attacked by a couch. When he sat down for a short break, it developed a giant mouth and bit into his behind, _hard_. While that seemed kind of funny at the time, it soon became obvious that the thing was poisonous, and Ron had to spend two days in bed recovering.

Snape had been quite smug when Mrs Weasley had to ask him for an antidote. While he was his usual unapproachable self towards the adults, he had – how Harry saw it – provoked Ron until he _had_ to be rude. Which ended in Ron getting detention for the first two weeks of term, even if term hadn’t even started jet.

So, Snape was still a right git, which all those still attending school readily agreed on. To show their loyalty to Ron and cheer him up, they made plans how to get back at their Professor and decided to plant a portable swamp in the supply cabinet of the Potions classroom.

For Harry the best thing about the whole occurrence was, that Hermione was so torn between supporting Ron and not go against a professor that she forgot to stalk Harry about his health at least for a few days.

Another welcome distraction was the never-ending fight against Grimmauld Place. He didn’t have to talk to others and could easily slip away (five people battling a swarm of Bundimuns was bound to end in chaos) to spend some time alone when he needed it. He would wander around the upper floors and nose around all the curious things slumbering in the dusty rooms or simply curl up in a corner and think.

The most surprising thing he discovered on one of his solitary expeditions was a stairway hidden behind a tapestry, which lead to a second attic. Unlike the one they usually considered the attic, this one seemed to be entirely made of wizarding space. While it had a nice view over London, Harry was pretty sure that it wouldn’t actually fit anywhere inside the house. It was a very disconcerting feeling to look outside the windows and feel like he had to be a hundred feet over the roof of the house. But then he remembered that windows could be enchanted to show a certain view and things made more sense. Still, wizarding space was weird.

The Hidden Attic, like Harry started to call it in his mind, consisted of two rooms. One was a gloomy little study with horrible green wing chairs and a bookcase which wouldn’t open. But, since the front was made of glass, he was able to see inside and didn’t have to worry about suddenly getting ambushed by some stray creature. There were a lot of books with no titles on their leather-spines, a set of goblets which seemed to be made out of snakeheads and some fragile silver instruments he couldn’t identify the use of.

The collection of dark-hued furniture and tapestries had a heavy atmosphere to it and whenever Harry spent more than an hour in the room, he got the feeling he was breathing shadows. It didn’t seem to be a menacing kind of darkness – or whatever it was anyway – but it still felt disconcerting.

On the coffee table between the wing chairs had been a single box. The intricate snake-carvings covering the lid had drawn him to it like a moth to the flame. Without thinking about what he was doing, he had opened it with Parseltongue and had only later on realized, that the warded box could have contained something _really_ dangerous. Wards where usually there for a reason and he’d only managed to bypass those by telling the little silver-snakes to move aside.

Thankfully, nothing had attacked him, and the box had only contained an old, bulky locket, carrying the letters SS which, he guessed, stood for Salazar Slytherin. Harry thought it only made sense that there were some old artefacts related to the dead wizard since all Blacks except for Sirius had been proud to be in that particular house. And while something about the locket did seem off – it sometimes tried to whisper things to him – he decided that it was by far not the weirdest thing he’d encountered in Grimmauld Place. Why he put it around his neck and hid it under his sweater, he couldn’t have said, it just seemed very important that he do so.

The second room in the Hidden Attic was a large storage room. One side consisted of windows and it was surprisingly bright for a room at Grimmauld Place. It was full of old furniture, most of them were covered with giant white cloths.

He also found a trunk with more books, mostly outdated editions of _The Standard Book of Spells, A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ and _Unfogging the Future_. Hermione would have loved to compare them to the newer versions, but Harry didn’t want to explain where he found them.

On the bottom of the trunk was a photo album not unlike the one Hagrid once gave him. He spent hours going through the pictures of Sirius and his brothers. They were mostly from before Sirius and Regulus had gone to Hogwarts and pictured a family not unlike what he imagined the Malfoys were in private. But still, he couldn’t let go of the little moving pictures, even if he knew Sirius would have burnt them.

While the second room was bright and didn’t seem to contain anything with dark magic, Harry still preferred the little sitting room. One of the reasons was, that it was easy to get addicted to the feeling of breathing darkness (it was a bit like drinking hot chocolate with a lot of cinnamon). The other was, that in the storage room was a creepy mirror, that reminded him of the Veil – it didn’t show his reflection but seemed to be a doorway to _somewhere._

His first thought had been to step through to look for Sirius. His second thought had been, that he really shouldn’t spend any more time alone, if he started to think things like that.

To test, if there was glass after all and it just didn’t show what it was supposed to, he threw one of the old schoolbooks and at the mirror. It fell through the frame and vanished without trace or sound.

Then he started to wonder: was Grimmauld Place was still safe, if it really was a doorway? What if it didn’t lead to some kind of other dimension, but another house, like a vanishing cabinet? And what if it did lead to some other dimension and something would be able to come through?

When he asked Mr Weasley at dinner if in the wizarding world there was such a thing as demons or creatures you could summon, the man had had no idea what he was talking about. It ended in a discussion about Muggle-superstition.

The next day, there lay a book in the middle of the storage room. It looked like it had been carelessly thrown to the floor. Harry didn’t pick it up at first, because he was absolutely certain that he hadn’t put it there and that it wasn’t a book he’d seen before. What if it was cursed or enchanted like Riddles Diary? In the wizarding world, you could never be careful enough about things like this.

He stared at it for some time and wondered if he should tell the adults about the mirror. In the end, he didn’t – because if it really was a doorway, it wouldn’t make sense to become active just now when he discovered it. And he wanted to keep the Hidden Attic to himself, at least for now.

Two more days passed until he did pick up the book after all. It turned out to be _How to Manage Household-Pests – A Beginners Guide to Successful Cleaning_.

After his initial fright, Harry reasoned that it had to be some kind of storage space which would hand out whatever you needed. It wasn’t like he’d told the mirror they were cleaning the house (he wasn’t so far gone that he would talk to furniture) but maybe the mirror had read this in his mind it somehow.

It seemed like a good idea to feed his summer-assignments to the mirror (he didn’t put his schoolbooks through, he wasn’t _that_ thick – instead he wrote the instructions on a few spare sheets of parchment and put those inside). Maybe there was some more old school stuff inside and he would be able to copy down his own assignment from that. It was common knowledge that Binns for example had the same assignments and exams since like forever _._ You could even buy exam-results from the older students, but Hermione would strangle him if he ever tired that.

But the mirror didn’t seem to like his idea too much. Another book showed up, this time it flew out of the mirror while Harry was rummaging through the old furniture and hit his head. He figured, he’d deserved that.

At least, it turned out to be interesting: it was about the special characteristics of the most common magical beasts. And while that title sounded awful long and boring, the book was actually very interesting. It listed the most powerful magical creatures like Phoenix, Unicorn, Dragon, Basilisk or Sphinx and their powers as well as the possible uses of different parts of the animals.

So, could for example Phoenix-feathers not only be used as a wand-core, but could be powdered and taken as the main ingredient of a restoring-draught which was so strong, that it would help a wizard recover his drained core in only a few hours. The only problem was, that while it was really hard to find a Phoenix, it was even harder to convince it to shed a feather. And only feathers which where freely offered contained magical power.

The same went for Basilisk venom and teeth which could destroy nearly anything: while there were hardly any of those creatures left, it was considered nearly impossible to kill them.

Harry decided he would have to go back to the Chamber of Secrets and collect all the different things. They seemed to be not only worth a fortune, but also extremely useful. While he had known how poisonous the venom was, he’d had no idea, that Basilisk-skin could be used to build curse-repelling amulets or even an armour which would resist most curses and jinxes. But it did make sense: after all, it seemed to be impossible to kill the animal with that kind of magic.

***

Being moody was nothing new for Harry, but this summer it seemed to be ten times worse. He couldn’t stop himself from snapping at people without so much as a reason. Things between him and his friends were more than just a bit strained after the first week and he spent more and more time alone.

It didn’t help, that Hermione was still hounding him about his health. Ron telling her about his nightmares was just one more reason for him to ignore them. His life at Privet Drive had never been easy, but now he was terrified of someone figuring out just how bad it really was. He wouldn’t be able to handle it if his friends knew the details.

He would start to panic at odd times, feeling like he couldn’t breathe. And while those episodes felt awful, it was even worse when Hermione started looking at him in that Hermione-like way. He just _knew_ , if she asked the right questions, he wouldn’t be able to lie.

So, all in all, things weren’t going so well. Of course, this resulted in his magic going all haywire – one more thing he had to be careful to conceal from everyone.

By now he was sure the creepy shadows were part of his own magic. They would grow bigger and gain solidity the more his emotions got out of control (he had no idea how shadows could be solid, but they would start looking like tentacles). One time, he’d managed to lock himself a bathroom he was supposed to clean of an infestation of Bundimuns, he’d gotten so scared, his magic had smashed everything around him. He’d blamed the destruction on the toilet seat, which had taken flight as soon as Ron had opened the door, and the others had thankfully believed him.

After that, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He was convinced, he would be able to find some books about what Dark Magic actually was. Or any information about ways for one’s magic to start acting independently.

He managed to slip away from the others just before dinner and locked himself in the library. The books looked menacing and he knew from experience, some of them would bite anyone who touched them. Sirius had even told him about a book which would burn your eyes out.

But he was prepared for that. Standing in the middle of the gloomy room, he shouted, “Kreacher!”

The elf appeared with a low pop and bowed half-heartedly, all the while glaring at him. “How dare the dirty Half-blood call Kreacher, how Mistress would cry if she knew about the Mudbloods– “

“Be quiet and listen!”, Harry ordered and grinned when it worked. Kreacher still glared daggers at him but wasn’t able to say a word.

“I need a book that will explain to me what exactly the difference is between Dark Magic and Light Magic”, he explained and then added as an after-thought, “and any book that contains anything about accidental magic or explains how magic can go wild. You’re only allowed to hand me books that are harmless, do you understand?”

“Oh yes, Kreacher understands.” The elf shuffled to the shelves and started to collect different books, all the while muttering under his breath. “The worthless Half-blood is losing control over his magic, and poor Kreacher has to hand him books, but Kreacher doesn’t want his filthy fingers to touch Mistress’ things, Kreacher wants to go back to Mistress Bellatrix– “

“Do as I said without speaking”, Harry interrupted and then accepted the books Kreacher handed him. The elf was glaring so hard, he worried for a moment his eyes would pop out of their sockets. But then again, he thought, it would serve him right. If not for the elf, Sirius might still be alive.

He sat cross-legged on the floor and bent over the books. Not all of them had titles, and the ones that did ( _Curse Your Enemy_ and _The Guide To Glory)_ didn’t look too promising. But he hadn’t really expected to find books like _How To Become A Dark Wizard – Do It Yourself_ or _Accidental Magic_ – _What It Is And Why All Children Do It._ Because that would be books that made sense and were actually useful – and that would go against the natural laws of the wizarding world. He’d been in Hogwarts for five years already and he still had no idea about the most fundamental things (He blamed that on the school since spending his time playing Quidditch and fighting Voldemort couldn’t possibly be responsible for it). Harry could already feel himself getting angrier and he bent over the books, trying not to get distracted.

One of them looked older than the others and had a wooden cover, with a painted red circle instead of a title. He was just about to drag it closer when Kreacher gasped and snatched the book away. Then he proceeded to smash his head against the floor, still without muttering a word.

Harry was so flabbergasted that it took him a moment before he reacted. “Stop it Kreacher. You’re not allowed to hurt yourself – that’s an order.”

Unlike what he expected, the elf didn’t glare at him. Instead, he held on to the book as if it was his lifeline and stared with huge eyes alternately at Harry and Harrys sweater.

Without warning, a blazing fury rolled through him; how _dare_ this creature stare at him like this?! He wanted to grab that little scrawny neck and close his hands around it and _shake_ until its bones snapped!

Harry reeled back. _What the hell?!_

His breathing was fast, but he knew that hadn’t been a panic attack. Since when was he like this? Sure, he was angry all the time, but he wasn’t _that_ angry! And even if Kreacher had lied to him about Sirius, there was no way he would actually kill him!

Just to be safe, he crawled backwards a few more feet before eying the books distrustfully. Maybe they put some sort of compulsion on the reader?

And then he realized that the locked around his neck was hissing and screeching and demanding he kill someone, _anyone._ He grabbed it, snatched it off and threw it in the furthest corner of the room. Slowly, the horrible voice grew quiet and Harrys heartbeat calmed down again.

Kreacher was still staring at him imploringly.

“What is it?”, he asked and cleared his throat when his voice came out in an embarrassing croak.

“The Half-Blood is wearing the locket! Why does the Half-Blood wear Master Regulus’ locket?” The elf sounded even more panicked than Harry felt. “The locket is foul, nasty, _evil– “_

“I realized, ok?!”, Harry snapped at him and then rubbed his temples. While he felt as if he could truly breathe for the first time in weeks, he also felt a pounding headache coming on. “Wait– What did you say? Regulus’ locket?”

“Kreacher is not allowed to say.” The elf was wringing the book in his hands. “Kreacher has sworn to keep quiet, Master Regulus has told Kreacher to never, ever tell anyone, even if Master Regulus is not around anymore.”

“Fine.” Harry glanced at the Very Evil Locket. “Can you tell me why it is so dangerous?”

“Kreacher can’t, Kreacher _can’t_!” He seemed to contemplate something and then bowed deep. “Kreacher will promise Master Potter to serve him _well_ if Master Potter will destroy the locket.”

“You’re supposed to serve me anyway...” Harry squinted his eyes and stared at the elf. There had to be a catch. “Why do you want it destroyed?”

“Kreacher can’t tell.”

“Why didn’t you destroy it yourself?”

“Kreacher is not able to destroy it. Too dark, too nasty, too _evil._ ”

“Then why do you think I would be able to destroy it?”

“Very powerful magic is needed to destroy it”, said Kreacher slowly, as if he was pondering how much exactly he could say. “Master Potter goes to School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There are many powerful things, old things, in the School. The Master will find a way if he is truly willing.”

The locket did seem evil and something that ought to be destroyed. But there was no way he could trust the elf. “Will something bad happen if I destroy it?”

“Something evil will be gone if Master destroys the locket.”

“Will it hurt me or anyone else if I destroy it?”

The elf hesitated. “Master Potter will not be harmed if he takes the right precautions. Only the evil in the locket will be hurt.”

Harry couldn’t find any real reason not to do it. He got up and made his way over to the bulky thing. It looked harmless enough at the moment, but he could feel the evil leaking out of it like a bad smell, the elf was right about that. He picked it up and put it around his neck again. “Alright Kreacher, I will try to find a way to destroy it. But it might take a while.”

“Master Potter must be careful. There are thieves in the house who will try to take it away”, the elf cautioned. “But it will also hurt Master Potter if he is wearing it all the time.”

“Then I will take it off when I sleep and wear it the rest of the time.” He hated to agree with him, but he knew that Dung would try to steal it if it was truly an heirloom of Slytherin. “Oh, and call me Harry please. Master Potter sounds weird.”

“If Master Harry wishes so”, Kreacher agreed with a deep bow, before he picked up one of the books and handed it hesitantly to Harry. “Master Harry may wish to read this book.”

It seemed like a peace-offering and Harry took it gladly. “Will it tell me what’s wrong with my magic?”

The elf nodded, still looking at him a bit contemptuous. “Master Harry has a lot to learn, his friends are ignorant Mudbloods– “

“Don’t say that, alright? They _are_ my friends and you promised to serve me well. So, you will have to be polite to them.”

That got only a deep bow and a muttered, “If Master Harry wishes so, Kreacher will not call the traitors Mudbloods anymore.”

A loud knock at the door made both of them startle. Ron put his head through the door without waiting for an answer. “Harry? Dinner’s ready– what the hell is _he_ doing here?!”

“Um... he was helping me look for a book? He knows this library better than any of us. And since he’s bound to me now, he has to be friendly to me.” He tried to turn the book he was holding so Ron wouldn’t be able to read its title. “I’ll be downstairs in a minute, alright?”

Ron didn’t look convinced but also didn’t seem keen to spend any time in the same room with Kreacher (or books for that matter). “Sure. I’ll tell Mum you’ll be right there.”

When the door was firmly shut again, Kreacher muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Blood-Traitor.

Harry tried his best to stay polite. “You’re also not allowed to call any of my friends Blood-Traitors. Or filthy or nasty or _any_ names except their real names, alright?” That got him a reluctant nod and his eyes were dragged to the book Kreacher still held on to. “Why did you take the book away from me?

“Kreacher has been bound to serve Master Harry, but not to serve him _well._ ” The elf grinned maliciously before sending the books back to their shelfs with a snap of his fingers. “Master Regulus would say it is shameful to be ignorant.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, then. Thank you for your help, Kreacher”, Harry said pointedly. “Now you’re to go back to the Hogwarts kitchens and stay there until I say otherwise.”

The grumpy elf vanished whilst giving another bow. Harry wasn’t certain if he could trust him. But he knew, it would have been impossible for the elf to lie outright – that would go against everything he knew about the creatures. It did seem worthwhile to at least try to get along with him.

He hid the Very Evil Locket under his sweater and resolved to not trust his moods while he was wearing it. Seemed like he had another project. At least it could wait until he was back at school.

***

Bill was fascinating, and Harry didn’t really understand why. He was... interesting? flashy? Handsome? Ugh. How could he look at a guy and think he was handsome? Deep down he suspected the reason for it, but he couldn’t allow himself to really think like that. He’d heard his uncle rant about Nancy-boys often enough to not want to fall in the same category.

Mrs Weasley was fussing around his hair. “If you would just let me– “

“ _No,_ Mum! How many times do I have to tell you?” Bill turned his chair around, successfully ducking away from Mrs Weasleys hands which tried to untie his hair.

Harry snickered. _Snickered?!_

Ginny shot him a Very Weird look. He sunk deeper into his own chair and wished for his invisibility cloak.

“Dear, I just think it would look much better if– “

“It looks dashing!”, Ginny exclaimed with a very bright grin. “Even Harry thinks so, right Harry?”

He felt a blush creep into his cheeks and was glad Bill ignored the comment.

It was just after lunch and the four of them sat around the kitchen table. Or at least Ginny, he and Bill sat around and drank coffee while Mrs Weasley seemed determined to give Bill a new haircut.

“Mum, you wouldn’t understand, you’re way too old for this”, Bill tried to explain, what seemed to be the wrong way to go about it.

“To old?!” She turned away contemptuously. “I would think not. How do you ever expect a girl to look at you this way? Surely you don’t want to have longer hair then _she_ has?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and said to Harry. “Did you hear about Phlegm yet?”

“Phlegm?”

“I’ll take that as a No.” She leaned closer to him and he fought the urge to lean away from her. “Fleur Delacour is working at Gringotts to improve her English. Bill started going out with her and is talking about her all the time – you’re lucky if you didn’t have to hear any speeches about her yet. They tend to be long. And soppy.”

To make sure he understood, she made a gagging motion. Bill saw that and scowled. “Grow up Ginny. And what was that about Dean again?” In another move to escape Mrs Weasley he got up and put his mug into the sink. “I’ll better get back to work. Mum, Harry; see you at the meeting tonight.” He waved to all of them before ducking out of the kitchen.

Ginny seemed to be occupied with a loose thread of her sleeve, so Harry turned to Mrs Weasley. “We’re invited to the meeting tonight?”

“Didn’t I tell you, dear?” The way she looked him over in a contemplative manner made his hackles rise. “Dumbledore wants you present for the second part of the meeting. Something about the school, I think.” She moved closer and he felt himself tense. “Harry, dear, your hair did grow quite a bit as well. Let me take care of that for you.”

“Um, no thanks, Mrs Weasley”, he said hastily and got out of his chair. At least his instincts to anticipate disaster was still fully intact. “I promised Hermione to show her my Charms essay; or rather she offered to proofread it one more time, so I really shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

“Are you sure, dear? It would really go better with your slender frame; you would look more masculine with shorter hair – and it would show off your scar better.”

He stared at her and felt the blood rush to his feet. Ginny had the decency to muffle her snorts while Mrs Weasley pulled her wand.

Seriously? No; _seriously_?

The locket started to whisper to him and he made a run for it.

He heard Mrs Weasley ask, “Was it something I said?”, before the kitchen door fell shut behind him and he hurried up the stairs.

***

As soon as he was in his room, he pulled off the locket and threw it on the nightstand.

He wanted to punch something. No, he wanted to scream, to hex someone. Taking deep breaths, he curled up on his bed and shut his eyes.

That didn’t help.

He banged his head against the wall. That didn’t really help neither, but the pain distracted him for a while.

Thank Merlin Ron and Hermione are not here, he thought. They would look at me again with that look, like I need their pity, like I’ve gone nuts. They’re probably whispering behind my back right now about how I can’t handle Sirius’ death... As if that had anything to do with it!

He banged his head against the wall one last time, just for good measure. Kreacher had been right. The locket was truly Very Evil. Or whatever that brainwashing effect was called. He had to get his reactions better under control. There needed to be a way to distinguish between his real emotions and the one that were heightened by the locket. He was tempted to call the elf back and ask, but then he would probably just say he wasn’t allowed to tell him.

And he had other things to do first. A House-elf calling him ignorant wasn’t flattering and he would be damned if he gave the elf even more reasons to look down on him. He rummaged through the very disorganized drawer of his nightstand and pulled out some chocolate frogs and the book Kreacher had given him.

It was inconspicuous in comparison to some other books of the Black-library. The brown leather looked harmless and the title was simple enough; _The Fundamental Principles Of Magic._ Then he remembered the book Kreacher had first wanted to hand him and took out his wand. Better safe than sorry.

The book stayed inanimate after he opened it and he shrugged his shoulders. Maybe the elf truly wouldn’t try to get him “accidentally” killed anymore.

It turned out to be very dry literature. He understood only half of it and reluctantly acknowledged that he’d have to ask Hermione to explain it to him. At least he found an answer to his questions. After the age of twelve, it was considered impossible to become an Obscurus.

There was a list of several reasons why one’s magic could act strangely:

_The following list names known reasons for magical instability in order of occurrence. Accidental Magic (caused through extreme emotion, emotional instability or danger to the witch or wizard) is not listed since it is a common occurrence and doesn’t have any long-term effects. Contrary to belief, there has never been a case where Accidental Magic alone damaged a magical core. It can however have unforeseen impacts on any (other) reason for magical instability._

_32%) Poisons or excessive consume of magical substances can cause a witch or wizard to lose control over their magic (for list, see page 216)._

_27%) Any illness that affects the magical core will cause the witch or wizard to lose control over their magic (for list, see page 221)._

_21%) Excessive exposure to Muggel medicine can damage the core of a witch or wizard which will in turn cause the witch or wizard to lose control over their magic._

_9%) Extended exposure to Dark Magic as well as extensive usage of Dark Magic will cause a witch or wizard to lose control over their magic if the necessary antidotes are not administered as required._

_6%) Magically strong witches of wizards are known to have trouble to control their powers during the time their magical core is maturing (between eleven and seventeen). The effects can be minimised by frequent exercise. The effects will be intensified if there is a block on the magical core (it is a myth to think this would curb the magic)._

_4%) Blood Curses are known to slowly detract all control from a witch or wizard over their magic. This can only be countered if the Blood Curse is given a substitute of equal value (For list of families prone to Blood Curses, see page 223)._

_Less than 1%) Witches or Wizards with seer-abilities are known to have more difficulty in learning how to control their powers. There are known cases in which the common level of stability wasn’t achieved before the age of thirty._

He read the whole thing twice before he unwrapped a chocolate frog and leaned back, munching and brooding.

Even if he didn’t like it, it seemed a sure guess that he did have either extreme emotions or emotional instability. He didn’t really know the difference. And he definitely had no seer-abilities – nor did he think poisoning, magical substances or illnesses were in his case possibilities.

He was not sure, however, about the exposure to Dark Magic. His scar was after all a curse-scar; did it as such carry Dark Magic within? But then, _someone_ would have thought about that and told him to take antidotes, right? And he would probably have had problems way before this summer. Except if the Dark Magic had started to accumulate in his body and was just now starting to become a problem.

The passage about Blood Curses didn’t make much sense to him. He’d never heard of such a thing before. The Potters were not in the list of families prone to them, but since he knew next to nothing about his ancestors, he would have to do some more research.

While he knew he wasn’t weak, he was also aware that he wasn’t exceptionally powerful. His talents were one-sided; he was very good at Defence and passable at Charms but struggled at Transfiguration. For Potions and Divination he wasn’t able to guess his abilities since, as far as he was concerned, thanks to Snape and Trelawney no one was able to learn anything in their lessons (except Hermione and Malfoy, but they didn’t count; Hermione didn’t need lessons to learn things and Malfoy was a spoiled git).

That left Muggle medicine as a cause. He couldn’t remember the Dursleys ever taking him to a Doctor. But maybe he just couldn’t remember? After all, he did go to primary school – did they even allow kids if they weren’t vaccinated? Since he couldn’t imagine asking the Dursleys about it, he would just have to figure out if he had ever been subjected to Muggle-medicine. Maybe Madam Pomfrey would know more about it.

***

Thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)


	3. The Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry does some eavesdropping and gets caught by Snape.  
> Snape is not happy with the Headmaster and neither is Harry – but they would never actually agree on something, would they?
> 
> And finally, Harry learns some more about the mirror in the Hidden Attic.

Learning how to live, chapter 3

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. --

***

At dinner, Mr Weasley had told Harry to join the Order meeting around eight. Before that, the adults would do their usual reports and he didn’t need to concern himself with that.

Waiting in his room and trying to avoid Ron and Hermione who were asking unpleasant questions was torture. He was agitated and anxious about what Dumbledore wanted of him. Were they finally going to tell him what was going on in the war and include him in their planning? Or would they simply heap new expectations upon him?

He’d gone to the Hidden Attic for a while and fed the mirror some more stuff, just to see what would happen. It had reacted instantly, and he’d gotten an empty tobacco dose for a silver spoon, an eagle-quill for an old newspaper, and a very angry pixie for one of his socks. The mirror hadn’t seemed to like the chocolate frog card of Dumbledore and had thrown a vase at him, missing his head by a hair’s breadth.

Time didn’t seem to pass by at all and after some more reading about the principles of magic, he decided to go downstairs. Of course he’d only planned to wait in the sitting-room next to the kitchen and surly not try to do some eavesdropping. But the door to the kitchen hadn’t been warded with silencing spells and the Order members were talking rather loudly.

The jingling and clanking of bottles and mugs could be heard, along with a humming of different voices. Then Lupin asked, rather loud and irritated, “But surely you will ask Harry first?”

Harry pressed himself against the wall and tried to still his breathing. For once he was glad for the shadows that crept towards him, engulfed him and made him almost invisible. He knew he shouldn’t be listening in like this, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Of course.” He could just imagine Albus nodding with twinkling eyes. “But he will gladly accept this offer – after all it _is_ an excellent opportunity, if I may say so myself.”

“Does he even want to become an auror?” That was Tonks’ bright voice. “I’d thought he’d rather be a teacher, what with his little study group last year and all.”

 _What? Why were they talking about his career choice?_ Harry gritted his teeth. There went his ideas for getting information about the war.

“It’s what he told Minerva last year.” Dumbledore’s voice was soothing. “And since both his parents have been aurors as well, I’m sure it wouldn’t be difficult to persuade him, if necessary.”

Lupin started to say something, but someone cleared his throat rather pointedly. “We could use this to try to convince his peers to join our cause.” That was Mad-Eye talking. “They look up to Potter after all – and a prestigious apprenticeship like this is bound to further his image even more.”

“That’s part of the idea”, agreed Dumbledore. “It’s also necessary because the he will need the knowledge in his fight against Voldemort.”

Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Didn’t they have anything better to discuss?! And he knew that Dumbledore liked to be in control of all his chess pieces, but this went too far, even for him. Sure, he’d started to doubt the Headmaster – but he’d still thought he could trust his judgment. Did they really only care about him as a figurehead?

There was a short silence before Lupin spoke up again. “But what about after the war? Maybe he will want to do something entirely different – don’t you think it’s a bit harsh to limit his choices like this?”

 _Ha!_ , Harry thought. As far as choices went, he wouldn’t be able to become an Auror anyway. He’d only gotten an Exceeds Expectations in Potions and Snape wouldn’t accept him for his NEWTs course. The Aurors would only take him on special recommendation without a NEWT in Potions – then again, the way his life went, someone was sure to see to that.

“I assure you Lupin, it’s not my intention to restrict Harry in his choices. But the war won’t be over with Voldemorts death. There will still be the Death Eaters and armies of dark creatures to fight – people will need someone to look up to.” Dumbledore’s answer had Harry reeling. He would rather run from the wizarding world altogether than go through _that._ His life was supposed to be his own after Voldemort!

“And I heard the boy has quite the talent for Defence”, agreed Mad-Eye. “It would be a shame to waste it.”

“He’s also a very talented seeker”, Lupin insisted, and Harry wanted to hug him. At least one person seemed to be on his side. “And maybe he even likes to do something entirely different – I’m just saying we should at least leave him some options.”

“The Boy Who Lived a Quidditch player?”, screeched a voice he didn’t recognize. “You’ve got to be kidding Lupin! He’s meant to be a leader – people will look up to him wherever he wants it or not!”

“Now, now”, chided Dumbledore. “For now, the most important thing is to give him the means to defeat Voldemort. Everything else will have to come later. And if his apprenticeship in Defence will motivate others to follow his footsteps, then we will gladly accept this as an advantage – but our focus must remain on training Harry.”

The Headmaster continued speaking, but Harry didn’t hear the rest of it. He saw a motion at the end of the corridor and scurried inside the sitting-room, pressing himself against the wall behind the door. He wasn’t eager to explain himself to Hermione or Ron at the moment and they were bound to realize something was wrong.

A hand grabbed the collar of his sweater and smashed him against the wall. He didn’t even have time to make a surprised noise before a wand was jabbed into his throat.

“ _Potter!”_ , spat the voice of a very enraged Snape and it sounded more like a curse than ever. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Harry stared at his Professor with wide eyes and begged for his brain to start working again. He needed an excuse, _now._ “I... I just– They told me to come to the meeting. I was just about to go inside– “

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, _boy_! Don’t you dare play dumb with me!” Snape pushed him against the wall again, as if he wanted to beat some sense into Harry.

Panicked, Harry tried to cover his face with his hands. He knew from experience that it wouldn’t help much to calm enraged people down, but it was better than getting his nose broken or a blackened eye.

Snape let go of him as if burnt and took a step back. “Get a grip on yourself boy. I’m not going to hit you, you stupid child!”

Harry lowered his hands and blinked at him. There was a curious expression on Snapes face he had never seen before. It almost looked like... uncertainty? But that couldn’t be – it had to be some sort of trick. Maybe he wanted Harry to believe himself safe before attacking. But he wouldn’t fall for games like this. That was one thing Snape never knew about him; his uncle had taught him well enough how to behave in situations like these.

He forced himself to relax and stared with unseeing eyes at his Professor.

Rule number one: don’t show them you’re afraid. They are sure to use it against you.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Rule number two: don’t argue. Let them think you’re stupid and compliant so they have no reason to fight you.

Snapes eyes widened for a moment before a calculating gleam entered them. “Eavesdropping, Potter? It seems you still haven’t learned any manners. However, that’s not what I asked.” He lifted his wand to Harrys face again. “Where did you learn that spell?”

Harry gulped. That wasn’t what he’d expected. What was Snape talking about? “I... Sir? I didn’t do anything?”

“Is that so? I’ve got no desire to listen to your inane rambling, Potter. _Legilimens!_ ”

Without any time to brace himself for the invasion, Harry felt Snape rip through his fable shields right into the centre of his mind. He saw himself riding a broom on the Quidditch pitch, a younger Harry laughing with Ron and Hermine, him locked up in his room at Privet Drive. _No!_ There was no way he would let Snape see his humiliation. The black hole started swirling in a menacing way and Harry could feel how black strands lashed out towards the presence of his professor.

Snape hesitated for a not even a split second, but it was enough. Harry realized how he could defend himself. He called all the thoughts to his mind which made him angry and let the black hole expand in his mind. It _hurt_ , gods, he felt as if something inside him was torn apart. But at the same time, he knew Snape would feel the pain too, which gave him the strength to continue.

He pushed himself deeper into the black and let go of all barriers holding his magic. If he could win just for once against someone looking down on him, he would gladly pay whatever price necessary.

That was about the last coherent thought he managed, before everything fell apart. Blinding pain filled every fibre of his being and he lost every bit of control he ever had over his magic. The black swirling mass grew and grew until it filled his mind and spilled out of his head, his nose, his eyes. There was a dull THUMP and a different kind of pain in his knees, but it seemed far away and unreal. Black shadows started to eat away at the world around him and he wanted it to stop, it hurt so bad, he couldn’t take anymore–

Then there was a blazing white light, freezing the shadows, letting them crumble. Some of the stuff withdrew into Harry like a Devil's Snare fleeing light, but most of the black magic froze and shattered like glass with a loud crackling sound.

Noises seemed to reach towards him from far away, steps, cursing, creaking, jingling, rattling, the dripping of water, something heavy falling to the floor. It smelled of polish remover and Harry remembered the twin’s laughter. What had they said was the counter to the Instant Darkness Powder? Something with Ice. It smelled weird.

Everything was black – ah, yes, his eyes were closed, so that made sense.

Harry had no idea how long he lay deliriously on the ground until he was able to form some coherent thoughts. Then he remembered where he was.

Crap. Now he would definitely have some explaining to do. If Snape would even let him talk and not just go straight to Dumbledore.

Hands gripped his shoulders and dragged him into a sitting position. He tried to push the hands, which he knew must belong to Snape, away, but he had no strength at all. What the bloody hell had happened? He tried to open his eyes, but when everything around him started to spin, he closed them again with a weak groan. This was _really_ bad. He only hoped he hadn’t somehow managed to break his magic.

Snape said something, but the words made no sense to Harry and he didn’t see any reason to try and unscramble the sounds. Then there was something cold against his lips and he recoiled, banging his head against the wall. Hands again, grabbing his neck, pressing him forward. He whimpered. Then the glass against his lips was back, something ice-cold drippled into his mouth and down his throat, he swallowed reflexively.

It really smelt like polish remover. What was it called again? Something with moon. Or ice. Moon-Ice? No. Ah, now he remembered; Mooncrystal. But that hadn’t felt so cold. Maybe it was the same thing, just different? He’d never been good at Herbology or Potions.

“Potter, _concentrate_!”, barked a voice. “Don’t move and stay awake, understood?”

Harry managed to make some noise which Snape seemed to accept as an answer. He didn’t think he would be able to move even if he wanted to. He was _so_ tired, and his arms and legs felt like jelly. Maybe he should just sleep for a few minutes. Snape seemed to have gone somewhere, so he should be alone. That Snape was gone alarmed him, but he didn’t know why. Wasn’t it usually a good thing if the git left him alone?

Oh, right. The Order meeting. Harry knew it was useless to hope Snape wouldn’t tell the others what had happened.

He realized that this was the moment he was supposed to panic, but he was just too tired. There was a curious buzzing in his ears, pulling at his mind, trying to draw it forcefully away to sleep. He wanted to let go, he _needed_ to. Just for a few minutes.

***

When Harry woke up again, the first thing he saw wasn’t Snape glaring down at him, but Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes.

“Ah, Harry. Good to see you awake and alert.”

“Ugh.” A horrible headache made him squint against the reading lamp on the table next to his head. “Professor Dumbledore? What happened?”

The twinkling dimmed a bit. “Well, my dear boy, I was hoping you could explain that to us. Professor Snape told me how he found you in here, covered in Dark Magic.”

Harry looked around. He was still in the sitting-room and Snape was observing him from the far end of the room as if he was an interesting creature. He glared back and Snape sneered. “I didn’t do anything. Well, no, maybe I did, but I didn’t do anything I was aware of at least. I’m not able to do magic over the summer anyway.”

“Eloquent as always, Potter”, he drawled. “You should be aware that you are, in fact, able to do magic during the holidays. Possibility and permission are not the same thing.”

“What?” Harry got the feeling his brain wasn’t really working yet. And he was aware that that was not ideal in this situation. “So, _you_ are saying that I can do magic as long as I don’t get caught?” That couldn’t be right; that would be too un-Snape-like.

“Don’t be daft! You–”

“Now, now, Severus”, chided Dumbledore and Harry wanted to grin gleefully at the Potions Master. “It seems Harry is telling the truth and he does have no idea of what happened. Maybe it was merely an accident?” The headmaster stared at him with that inquiring look of his that made Harry squirm.

“Um... I don’t know?” That was the truth – he really didn’t understand what had happened. But he probably needed a better excuse than that if he didn’t want them to know about the shadows. “Would it be possible for a cursed object to have triggered my magic like this?”

They stared at him, Dumbledore astounded and Snape angry. “Don’t tell me you’re carrying around a cursed object, Potter! Even _you_ should be aware how ridiculously stupid that is!“

“Well, I wasn’t aware, _Sir!_ ”, Harry shot back, trying not show his relief about them taking the bait. “It’s not like they remembered to tell us that in Defence or anything.” To distract them some more, he pulled the locket from under his sweater, dragged it over his head like in a dramatic gesture and showed it to Dumbledore. “I know that it’s cursed or something. I had planned to destroy it once I was back at Hogwarts. I was just wearing it, so it couldn’t get into the wrong hands.”

“May I?”, Dumbledore asked, pointing his wand at the locket. When Harry gave a nod, he let it hover in the air and muttered some spells under his breath. Then his eyebrows moved to his hairline. “Astounding... May I ask where you found it?”

“It was in a box among all the other old stuff here at Grimmauld Place.” There was no way he would tell them about the Hidden Attic. “The box was warded, but I could go around them by asking the carved snakes on the lid to move aside.”

“Curious indeed”, the Headmaster mumbled without taking his eyes off the locket.

Snape looked like he was choking on a Sherbet Lemon. “Surely Potter shouldn’t be encouraged to use magic – even if it doesn’t require a wand – outside of school, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore ignored him, conjured a gold-painted box and put the locket away. “I’m afraid, I will have to hold on to this for the moment, Harry. It _is_ extremely dangerous – but I promise, you’ll be allowed to help in its destruction.”

There wasn’t really anything he could say to that, since he didn’t want to tell them about Kreacher or the Hidden Attic or his magic being all wonky. So instead he asked, “How long was I asleep? Did I miss the Order meeting?”

“You were not asleep but unconscious because of magical exhaustion.” Snape managed look down his nose from ten feet away, even if the angle should have made it impossible. “Let this be a lesson to you; one does _not_ pick up an unknown magical artefact without precautions. To do so is not only foolish, but also proves that you still seem to possess the mind of a child that grabs for sparkly things without so much as a single thought. But then again, that surely is hard to understand for a Gryffindor who knows nothing but imprudent _bravery_.”

Snape saying _sparkly_ would have been hilarious if the words hadn’t been spat out like a curse. Harry still resolved to tell Ron about it.

“Ah, but surely you remember what it is like to be young and curious, Severus?” Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling merrily again.

Snape glared at them both, not dignifying the enquiry with a reply.

“To answer your question Harry; yes, the meeting has ended some time ago”, the Headmaster continued, leaning towards him. “Nevertheless, I would like to tell you a few things if you feel up to it? I believe it would be appropriate to inform you before school starts up again.”

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice. The anger was already starting to boil inside of him as he thought about what he’d overheard. However, he could hardly ask any sarcastic questions if he didn’t want it to be obvious that he’d been eavesdropping. Speaking of; why hadn’t Snape rebuked him for that yet? Surely the Professor had realized what he’d been doing? Maybe he’d edited the whole incident, so he wouldn’t have to tell the Headmaster about using Legilimency; making it look like he’d just walked in on Harrys magic going haywire.

“Since Professor Snape will have to take his leave as soon as possible, I’d like to address matters concerning him first.” Dumbledore was stroking his beard seemingly relaxed, but he didn’t look happy. “There is no easy way to ask this of the two of you, but I’m afraid it is the only option we have at the moment.”

“Just _ask_ , Albus and spare us your platitudes”, snapped the Potions Master, clearly irritated. Harry was surprised that the man seemed to know no more than him.

“Well then, Severus: I’d like you to teach Harry the basics of Dark Magic under the cover of Remedial Potions lessons.” He finally stopped stroking his beard and instead plopped a Sherbet Lemon into his mouth. Then, when neither of them reacted and just stared at him, he offered one to Harry.

“No.” Harry shook his head. He hoped, Dumbledore would understand that he didn’t just decline the sweet – even if the Headmaster had apparently gone insane.

Snape didn’t say anything, but then again, he didn’t need to. The way he was glaring at Harry made it clear that he wouldn’t survive another one-on-one lesson with the Professor. The gloomy sitting-room lost every ounce of cosiness the dim light of the reading lamp had offered. Harry was cold and wrapped his arms around himself.

“I’m afraid, I have to insist”, the Headmaster persisted, his gaze fixed on Harry. Maybe he was aware Snape would kill him with his glance if he dared to turn around. “You will have to learn more than the Defence lessons have to offer. Professor Snape is an expert in Dark Arts. And I’m certain that the two of you will be able to work together well in this field. While I admit, the Occlumency lessons have been a mistake, I am convinced that you will find a common interest in the Dark Arts as well as the Defence against them.”

Harry gulped and stared at his knees. He wanted to believe this was a bad joke, but Dumbledore wore that serious, expectant expression that brooked only one answer. Snape would murder him, he was sure of that. He still hadn’t even apologized for the incident with the Pensive – not that Snape ever let him get around to it – and he was certain he wouldn’t be able to curb his own hatred toward the Professor. It was one thing to act mature around the Dursleys; they were plain stupid, so he could brush off their insults. But Snape always got him where it hurt most. They loathed each other too much; it was bound to end in disaster.

And Harry had every reason to be angry with Dumbledore as well, especially after what he’d overheard. So why was it that he couldn’t refuse him outright out of fear to see disappointment in those eyes?

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea”, Harry managed to croak. Dumbledore was beaming at him as if he’d already agreed.

“And why, Albus, do you think I would agree to teach the brat?”, Snape was looking down at Harry. His face was, unlike what Harry had anticipated, not full of contempt, but devoid of all emotion. “We’re all aware that Potter is not only averse to studying but also incapable of learning anything not related to Quidditch.”

“Now you exaggerate, Severus. You know as well as I do, that young Harry is very apt at Defence. Furthermore, you’ll have more than enough time and it won’t afflict your personal time as it did last year.” Dumbledore offered the irate Potions Master a Sherbet Lemon. It seemed to take all of Snapes self-restraint not to strangle him.

“Very well. I assume, you’ll get your way regardless of my views on the matter.” Then Snape turned to Harry, his expression turning gleeful. “However, we will not be able to use Remedial Potions as an excuse since I do not accept students without certain... _standards_ into my NEWT classes.”

No. _No_! Harry closed his eyes. There went his hope of Snape refusing to teach him. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t even able to decide who he was more furious with. As _if_ he cared about the NEWTs: he wanted to cheer about not having to spend more time in the dungeons! Or maybe better not, no reason to enrage the Potions Master any more than he already was.

“Ah, but because only five students managed to get an Outstanding in their OWLs, I took the liberty to loosen the terms of admission to your class. And since Harry has managed a very satisfactory Exceeds Expectations, he will fulfil those terms well enough.” Dumbledore was now twinkling at Harry again, as if expecting him to be grateful.

He was _not._

The Potions Master inclined his head without a word. When he did speak, after a short silence, his voice was devoid of emotion and to an unknowing person he’d may have sounded polite. Harry knew him well enough to see the rage boiling just under the surface. It was nice to see that ire for once not directed at himself. “If that is all, Headmaster...?”

If he’d gotten such a look, he would have run for his life. Dumbledore either didn’t know Snape well enough or wasn’t intimidated in the least. He waved Severus into the direction of the door and blinked cheerfully at him. “Of course, of course, don’t let us keep you my dear boy. I’m sure I’ll see you back at the castle.”

Snape stalked over to the door, black robes swirling around him. Then, he turned around and just _stared_ at Harry with an expression Harry had never seen before. It wasn’t angry, which was probably reason enough to surprise him. Unsettled, Harry lifted his chin and glared back. He wouldn’t be intimidated by him. Snape smirked and left without another word.

Left alone with Dumbledore, Harry felt his anger dissolve. Having the old wizard look at him with kind eyes, he felt young and naive. Part of him knew, he _should_ at least be irritated about the Order planning out his whole life. But then again, he was only sixteen and they were adults, and everyone said Dumbledore was the most powerful and wise wizard of their time.

Maybe, he was just being childish.

And he had promised himself after Sirius’ death to act more mature.

“Now, Harry, I’m sure you wonder why I want you to learn about Dark Magic.” Dumbledore was leaning towards him and Harry tried his best to get himself into his focused-serious mode.

“Because I will need it do defeat Voldemort?”, he guessed. “Or at least I will need to know about it to be able to defend myself.”

The headmaster nodded, and his beard swung forth and back. “That is indeed one of my reasons. In order to be able to tell you about the second reason, I have to ask you to promise me that you will never repeat a word of what I am about to tell you. To no one. Not even your friends. You must remember that we are at war and the right information in the wrong hands can have devastating consequences.”

He gazed in those blue eyes. The candles were sizzling gently, and he could hear some people laughing in the kitchen next door. It was so peaceful and yet, he sensed, what Dumbledore was about to tell him would haunt him in his nightmares. He nodded.

***

That night, Harry didn’t sleep.

He tried for what felt like hours. Ron’s snores were grating on his nerves and the mattress was too soft and he couldn’t stop thinking about what Dumbledore had told him. A look at his alarm clock showed that it was already half past three.

As quietly as possible he got up and made his way to the Hidden Attic. There, he stared at the mirror. His bare feet were cold and the moonlight shining through the huge windows was eerie and peaceful at the same time. He held his breath and listened, but everything was deadly silent. It wasn’t even possible to hear the never-resting city of the Muggles.

He could just walk through.

He could.

It would be easy to just walk away from everything. Right?

Even if Dumbledore hadn’t said anything about the things Harry had overheard the order talking about, he knew now that his life would be planned out for him wherever he wanted it or not. They wouldn’t leave him alone, not even if he managed to defeat Voldemort.

The surface of the mirror looked like a mixture of glass and darkness. Or maybe that was wrong; he wasn’t able to actually _see_ it at all. It was there and at the same time wasn’t.

He imagined it would feel like silk or water to walk through it and shivered.

What if there was someone on the other side, someone who had wanted to run away just like him, and was unable to come back? It was easy to picture someone standing in the darkness, staring at him. Just thinking about it, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.

“Sirius?”

He held his breath, but nothing happened.

It didn’t make sense. Who had hidden a Horcrux that had been stolen from Voldemort up here? Because that’s what the locket was; a container holding a part of Voldemorts soul. While a living Horcrux like Nagini could be killed with a number of deadly curses, there were only three known things that would destroy an inanimate Horcrux: Fiendfyre, the venom of a Basilisk and the tears of a Qilin (a magical creature from china which had last been sighted two hundred years ago and was probably extinct).

The book that the mirror had thrown at him after he had put his summer assignments through contained information about the latter two. Was that really just a coincidence?

Kreacher had said, it had been Regulus’ locket. Harry had heard stories from Sirius about how Regulus had been a Death Eater and died at the end of the last war. So, it was unlikely to assume Regulus had stolen the locket from Voldemort. Maybe he’d been instructed to keep it save, just like the Malfoys were supposed to store the Diary?

Yet, Kreacher had told him to destroy the locket. Perhaps the elf had not only despised Sirius, but Regulus as well. But then again, why would the mirror hand him information on how to destroy the thing? Unless it _was_ just a coincidence.

But what, if it wasn’t? What was it, Mr Weasley always said? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain...

What if there was someone or some _thing_ inside?

Not daring to let the mirror out of his sight, Harry backed away slowly, wand in his hand, until he could reach the study. There, he stumbled inside and closed the door.

His heart was somewhere in his throat and he didn’t dare to make a sound for a long moment. Then he realized he was being absurd. _If_ there truly was someone or something in the mirror or the mirror could think by itself, it could have attacked or influenced him way before now. And that was still _if._ It was also possible that it was only a peculiar case of wizarding space.

He went to the pompous desk rummaged through the drawers. Right now, he was infinitely grateful he’d thought of putting never-out candles into the chandelier. Stumbling around in the dark would have been hell. He finally found an old quill and ripped a page out of the first book he got his hands on.

 _Who are you?_ He wrote the words with shaking hands, then contemplated the question for a moment and added: _Where_ _are you?_

If he got no answer, that would at least calm his nerves somewhat. Even if it didn’t guarantee that there was no one inside. And if he _did_ get an answer... well... at least he had his wand.

He took one of the candles out of the chandelier and held it in one hand, griping his wand tightly in the other. Then he marched back outside and tried his best not to show any fear. He let some wax blob on the floor and stuck the candle into it. All the while he didn’t dare look away from the mirror.

Keeping safe distance, he lifted his wand to duelling position.

 _What the hell was he doing here?!_ That was it, he’d definitely gone insane. If there truly was something inside, it would be dangerous and scary and irresponsible and _stupid_ to rouse it.

How come, his reaction to being unable to sleep – because he was terrified and couldn’t stop thinking about being controlled by the Order and getting locked up at Privet Drive and having to search and destroy Horcruxes and battle the most evil wizard of their time – was doing _this?_

Maybe Snape wasn’t so wrong to equate Gryffindor-bravery with folly.

And then he understood. The mirror was scary, sure, but it wasn’t _terrifying._ He could _choose_ to do this, and he would be free to react to whatever happened however he saw fit. There was no one else around, judging his every move.

Harry took a deep breath and threw the scrunched-up page through the silky surface.

He didn’t have to wait long when the paper-ball already flew back out and rolled to his feet. Nothing else happened. Maybe the mirror didn’t take waste?

His heart beating madly, he crouched down and unfolded the paper. There was the delicate writing of a quill dictated with magic next to his questions.

_Who are you?_

_The enemy of my enemy is my friend... ever heard of that proverb, Mr Potter? In our case I prefer the term ally: while we have some common goals, we would disagree on many other things._

_Where are you?_

_The portal consists of two mirrors. While one is at your place, I own the other one. Don’t try to get through, my place is under Fidelius. You would get stuck in-between, unable to move._

_Since you have been at a disadvantage by not knowing what the mirror is, I give you these two answers as a peace-offering. However, in the future I won’t give you information and advice for free. For every question you ask, you will first have to answer one of mine._

_Think of it as a game of chess._

_Yours, A._

_My move:_

_Why did you tell no one about this mirror?_

_Why do you think the Order of the Phoenix is not part of the Ministry?_

***

As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)


	4. Back to Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry encounters a lot of weird things; Luna wearing Spectrespecs, Neville falling in love, Malfoy being scared, two new teachers and a very awkward moment at the welcoming feast. 
> 
> And after all that, he finally gets around to reply to A.

Learning how to live, chapter 4 – Back to Hogwarts

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. –

***

More background information:

  * Fudge is still Minister for Magic
  * Scrimgeour is head of the Auror Office
  * Madam Bones is head of the DMLE
  * Dumbledore has been re-instated as the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot
  * Shacklebolt and Mad-Eye are both high-ranking aurors, but are not (yet) in any lead positions. Fudge is still scared of Dumbledore/ the Order of the Phoenix gaining too much influence over the Ministry
  * Umbridge has been reprimanded but not degraded or punished and is now head of the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (mostly because the wizarding community is terrified of Werewolves and Giants joining Voldemort – Umbridge is well known for taking drastic measures towards all half-breeds and creatures)
  * Percy Weasley is now Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic
  * Pius Thicknesse is head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation



Aaaand I made a mistake; Harry already knew about Voldemort trying to recruit the Giants and Werewolves and so on (the whole Grawp-story in 5th year). For the sake of this Fic, please assume, that Harry, Ron and Hermione didn’t know about that. While Hagrid had been gone for some time and Grawp does live in the forbidden forest, they hadn’t known _why_ (they’d just assumed it was one more of Hagrid’s quirks).

***

For their way to King’s Cross on the first of September, they had an escort of several Aurors, curtesy of Minister Fudge. Harry suspected it was a gesture meant to impress him and try to gain his loyalties. If anyone asked him, which no one ever seemed to bother doing, it was a pretty useless attempt. After the whole thing with Umbridge, there was no way he would support the Ministry.

At least, the newspapers didn’t label him as deranged and dangerous anymore. Instead he was now the Chosen One. He couldn’t help but wonder, if Dumbledore had something to do with that since no one else knew the contents of the prophecy – at least as far as he knew.

With their escort they were over twenty people and there was no way to make it to the train unnoticed. It was a good thing no one tried an attack, but Harry was tired of being the centre of stares and whispers. He said quick goodbyes and fled to an empty compartment. Ron joined him shortly after, together with Luna and Neville. Ginny and Hermione had gone to the compartments where all the Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl met.

Mrs Weasley had been delighted when Ginny had gotten the Prefect badge. That Hermione would be the new Head Girl had already been explained by Dumbledore at an Order meeting.

The journey was spent lazing around and enjoying the last remains of the holiday. Luna was reading the Quibbler and Neville, who seemed to have grown at least a foot over summer, was excited to show them his new wand. His aunt had been very pleased about his participation in the whole Department of Mysteries affair, deciding that he finally took after his parents. And Ron enjoyed not having any responsibilities anymore and spent the time eating sweets and reading Harry’s book _Quidditch Through The Ages_.

Harry was glad for the peace and quiet. The last few days had been spent in a hectic chaos: ordering school supplies, the visit from Madam Malkins, gathering all their things (which had mysteriously ended up all over the house), cleaning up the mess Fred and George created by blowing up the bathroom on the third floor, and saying goodbyes to the Order members they wouldn’t see during the school year.

Harry had had a short, awkward conversation with Remus who would go undercover and infiltrate the Werewolves. After the short note he’d received after Sirius’ death, Harry had been worried Remus was angry with him. But it seemed the man didn’t blame him at all and was simply very distraught with the death of his good friend. They’d promised to write to each other (as much as was possible with Remus going undercover) and parted with a hug that had embarrassed them both.

There had been no time to go back to the Hidden Attic, about which Harry had been relieved and disappointed at the same time. He didn’t know what to do about the message he’d gotten. After his initial fright (he’d fled the room and barely withstood the temptation to burn it to the ground), he’d read the note again and again, unsure what to make of it.

The letter _A_ could stand for any initial of a whole group of people he knew, of whom most made no sense at all. Harry had narrowed it down to those still alive and not _extremely_ unlikely (like Argus Filch or Arabella Figg). Since the person sounded more like an adult than a teen-ager or child, he ruled out his peers, too. He also excluded all people whom he was certain were either his enemies or friends. In the end, he was left with Augusta Longbottom, Amelia Bones and Amos Diggory. There were also Andromeda Tonks and Aberforth Dumbledore who he’d heard about, but never met.

But he was aware, that his list was a very vague guess at best. He didn’t have to have heard about or met the person for him or her to know who he was. Nor did _A_ have to stand for an Initial. Another thing puzzling him was, how the person had known that _he_ was on the other side and not someone else. It wasn’t possible to look through the mirror – at least not from the side at Grimmauld place.

What worried him most was, that it could be someone trying to trick him into believing that the person was _not_ his enemy. There were also some Death Eaters whose names started with _A_ ; Avery, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, and Antonio Dolohow – and wouldn’t it be just like them to use a real initial, amusing themselves that Harry wasn’t able to figure it out?

He wanted to believe that the cryptic answer had been honest. But someone who knew him would also know, that this was an easy way to trick him. Telling him outright that they were allies or friends would have Harry not believing them at all. But this proposition of becoming allies was tempting. _Especially_ because he was sure, the message had meant that A was not on Dumbledore’s side, but an enemy of Voldemort all the same.

Then again, if it was someone trying to trick him, there would have been simpler ways. Over summer, his godfather had been officially pardoned by the ministry and by now everyone now knew about Pettigrew. It was also common knowledge that Harry was mourning his godfather. The obvious thing to do would have been pretending to be Sirius. Harry would have told him anything without thinking twice.

“You need to think positive thoughts, Harry.” Luna stared at him through a pair of toned glasses. The lenses were light blue and pink, surrounded by a sappy gold-frame.

“Um...” He liked Luna, but her ability to say something that hit home without even realizing it (and probably for all the wrong reasons) was quite unnerving. “Why are you wearing those glasses?”

It was already getting dark outside, and from the look of the dreary landscape they were already far up north. An hour at the most and they would be in Hogsmeade.

“They are called Spectrespecs”, explained Luna in her dreamy voice. “They allow you to see Wrackspurts. There are quite a few coming out of your ears.”

Ron made a frantic movement with his hands, gesticulating to Harry that he shouldn’t ask. When Luna turned to him, he hastily pretended to shoo away an imaginary bug and ended up knocking his book to the ground.

She observed him with polite interest, seemingly unaware of the embarrassed mood in the compartment. “You can’t chase them off with your hands, Ronald. Only positive thoughts will do that.”

Neville cleared his throat. “What are Wrackspurts, Luna?” His face was bright red and his voice shy.

Luna was delighted to tell him all about the little creatures. Neville’s eyes lit up and he listened with rapt attention. The longer she talked, the more he seemed proud of himself. He even sat up straighter and was literally beaming when he managed to ask a question Luna labelled as fascinating.

 _When had_ that _happened?_ , Harry wondered and shared a look with Ron. His friend shrugged awkwardly as if to say, better him than me.

Thinking about creatures, a plan began to form in Harrys mind. Since he didn’t think it was a good idea to ask an Order member to put messages thorough the mirror for him, he would just send Kreacher. He wouldn’t put himself in harm’s way by standing in front of the mirror and would still be able to find out more about A.

Now he only needed to figure out how he wanted to answer the questions.

***

By the time they got off the train, it was dark and raining. Most students hurried to the carriages, but Harry and Ron were searching for Hermione. Hagrid waved at them from the other end of the platform, grinning happily. He looked healthier and Harry wasn’t sure if he should hope for Grawp to have gone back to the mountains or learned some manners. Thankfully he wouldn’t have Care For Magical Creatures anymore; he definitely had no desire to meet the Giant again.

Very soon it became obvious that Hermione and Ginny had already left, and there were only some staggers remaining on the platform. The cold rain made the students hurry, and Harry was just as eager to get to the great hall with its promise of warmth and candles and food as all the others.

On their way to the carriages, Neville and Luna were still talking avidly and Ron tried to engage Harry in a discussion about the Chudley Cannons. Harry nodded and mumbled something unintelligent every once in a while, which seemed good enough to his friend. The wet gravel road led them away from Hogsmeade and the station, into thicker darkness and closer to the Forbidden Forest. A Thestral whinnied somewhere in the distance.

Just when they got to the turn of the road after which the carriages would be waiting, they were intercepted by Malfoy and his crew. The Slytherins had their hoods drawn over their faces, but the blonde Malfoy-hair sticking out under one of them was easy enough to identify. Crabbe and Goyle had gotten even uglier over the summer and stood as loyal goons on either side of their boss, cracking their knuckles.

“How was your summer, Potter?” Malfoy had his hands folded over a cane just like his fathers and was wearing a haughty expression. “Spent your time crying your eyes out over your dead dogfather?”

Harry regarded Malfoy and found himself unimpressed. His interest in the feud against the Slytherins seemed to have cooled over the summer. Sure, Malfoy Senior sometimes made an appearance in his dreams, but even he wasn’t that impressive compared to Voldemort.

And Draco? He was just a child.

No one else was around and Harry couldn’t help but wonder, if they would miss the carriages. It would just be his luck, if they would end up getting detention before term even started. The rain was soaking into his robe, and he was cold and wanted to move on.

“Sod off, ferret”, Ron groaned. “Don’t you have anything better to do, like terrorizing first years? Maybe you’d actually stand a chance to scare them.”

“Yeah!”, Neville agreed, his voice only a little shaky. “Leave Harry alone or you’ll have to deal with us!”

Meanwhile, Luna drew her hood back and stared at a nearby scrub. “Oh, how _lovely_!”

She started giggling which had Malfoy looking flabbergasted. It appeared to cost him a lot of effort to drag his attention back to the matter at hand. “Hiding behind others now, are we, Potter? A Weasel, a moron and a... well, whatever she is. Aren’t you getting tired of being surrounded by people like _that_?”

Harry grinned. Malfoy just made it so _easy_ to be the Harry Potter everyone expected him to be. “By friends you mean? Not really. But I see why you wouldn’t understand.”

Maybe next time they encountered some Death Eaters, they should try to confuse them by acting barmy. Luna had a very interesting effect on Crabbe and Goyle; they seemed unsure where to turn their attention and how to react. Perhaps they had Boggart-blood somewhere in their bloodline?

“Ah, Potter. Tsk, tsk.” Malfoy gave a theatrical sight. “Still so naive. It seems you’re never going to grow up, are you?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Malfoy?” Ron was now getting visibly angry.

“Friends only get you so far”, explained Malfoy without taking his eyes off Harry, as if Ron wasn’t even worth looking at. “Soon, you won’t be able to rely on your buddies anymore and will need real allies. But then again, maybe it’s a Gryffindor thing and you rather want to go down in some tragically heroical stunt than be faced with reality. I’ll _definitely_ enjoy the moment when that happens.”

Somewhere between all the insults, Harry recognized the familiar words.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend... In our case I prefer the term ally.

No. There was just no way Malfoy was A. He wouldn’t have been able to be subtle about it _at all_ and would probably have taunted and insulted Harry, giving himself away in the first message.

But still... maybe it was slytherin to think like that?

While Harry was contemplating things, anger had gotten the better of Ron. He had balled his hands into fists and turned an ugly shade of red. “Are you threatening him or what?”

Neville had some trouble holding him back, so Harry grabbed his friends’ other arm. “Leave it Ron, he’s just bluffing.”

“Too complicated for you, Weasel?” Malfoy smelled his chance of getting them into trouble and sneered down at Ron with his most condescending expression. “No, I’m not, because I don’t need to. I’m just saying that I’m looking forward to see Potter get what he deserves.”

“Get what he deserves? He’s done nothing wrong!” Neville was plainly indignant, which Harry found kind of adorable but not really helpful.

Harry wondered why he and Ron both fell so easily for Malfoys trap. The taunts and insults weren’t even _good,_ nowhere near personal or scary. Maybe Harry was just more resilient when it came to situations like this. He’d had more than enough practice with the Dursleys after all. Or maybe Malfoy just needed more lessons from a certain Potions Master, because Snape sure managed to make him see red.

“ _You_ should be careful _you_ don’t end up like your father; being well on the way to become a bootlicker of Snake-face!”, Ron snarled and that seemed to hit home.

Malfoys hands around his cane tightened until his knuckles stood out. But he didn’t scream and rant, instead he blanched. Just for a moment, Harry thought he looked more frightened than angry. But that couldn’t be. It had been Malfoy’s dream to become a Death Eater since first year.

Maybe it was having his father branded as a criminal and locked up in Azkaban that frightened him. Harry hoped it would put some sense into the blonde’s head. Even if Malfoy was a right git, he couldn’t believe that he would fit in with the Death Eaters. He was nasty and arrogant, but not outright cruel or insane like Bellatrix.

Crabbe took a step towards Ron, but Malfoy stopped him, a cold little smile on his face. “No reason to make your hands dirty Crabbe. They will get what’s coming to them.”

And then Malfoy paraded away, his nose high in the air and his goons hurrying after him.

“Phew”, Neville groaned. “Thank Merlin. I was starting to think we would actually get into a fight.”

Luna shook her head and put her hand on his arm. “Don’t worry. He’s not that bad, just scared. I would be, too, if I had that may Wrackspurts swirling around my head... do you think I should lend him my Spectrespecs?”

Ron burst out laughing. “Yeah, you should try that. But please let me be there for that; I’d love to see his face.”

“Are you alright?”, Harry asked his best friend. Mood swings were nothing new for Ron, but this was a bit extreme even for him.

“Sure.” He grinned. “I was just pretending. After last year, I thought I’d try to scare them off like that. Since he’s afraid of fist-fighting and I’m known to lose my temper, I figured it might work.”

It was Harrys turn to be stunned. “Smart. I never thought the day would come when you tried something so slytherin.”

They started walking again. It really was getting late and their stomachs were rumbling.

When they turned around the corner however, there were no carriages in sight far and wide.

“Damn it!”, Ron cursed. “Now we’ll have to walk because of the stupid ferret!”

“At least they have to walk, too.” Neville pointed towards the forest where three figures were huddled together.

Harry strained his ears and, when he heard Malfoy yammer, shoved Ron to make him listen too. “... ridiculous! I’m going to write mother about this, how can they expect us to walk when it’s raining like this! And this road – one would think they’ve never heard of road lights! The old, muggle-loving fool probably spent all his money buying new ugly creatures for the Half-blood and paying House-elves and buying sweets and now the school’s too broke to even afford fairy lights!”

Ron grinned and jostled him back. “Seems like it won’t be _my father will hear about this_ any longer – instead he’ll run to his mother. Though, I reckon she won’t be able to do much for him.” A dreamy smile came to his face. “Let’s see if he’s still all high and mighty when he grasps what it means for him that his daddy is no longer on the Board of Governors.”

***

When they got to the great hall, freezing and soaked to the skin, the sorting was already over. The little first-years sat huddled together at the end of the house tables and Harry wondered, if they too had looked this small and innocent when they had first come to Hogwarts. It was hard to believe this was five years in the past already. Only two more years to go and they would leave the castle; a daunting thought.

The headmaster stood up and they hurried to their respective tables. Neville was waving shyly goodbye to Luna (who went over to the Ravenclaws), when a ugly toad hopped out of his pocket. The following loud CROAK and Neville’s squeal “Trevor!” had every head turn towards them. While the fist-years started snickering, most of the older students just rolled their eyes. Professor McGonagall’s disapproving glare made Harry and Ron hurry to their seats while Neville dived under one of the banks to get a hold of his pet.

Harry felt horribly guilty when he remembered Hedwig. He had been so occupied with feeling sorry for himself that he hadn’t thought about her all summer! Tomorrow, he would visit her in the Owlery as soon as lessons were over and apologize.

“Welcome, welcome and the very best of evenings to you all.” Dumbledore’s voice travelled though the great hall and instantly the students quieted down.

Harry squished himself in a seat next to Hermione and she whispered, “Where have you been? Did something happen?”

“Later”, Harry mouthed and shook his head. He felt someone staring at him and turned to the head table. Surprisingly it wasn’t Snape, but probably the new Defence Professor. When the man winked, he continued to let his eyes travel over all of the Professors before fixing them on Dumbledore. While he had no interest being regarded as The Famous Harry Potter, he also didn’t want to offend one of his teachers.

The Headmaster opened his arms in a wide welcome, then turned and gestured to the weird man. “First off, let me introduce the newest members of our staff. Horace Slughorn...” The short, bulky man got up and gave a little bow which was met with polite applause. Harry instantly thought him dislikeable. “...and Leo Armond Rousseau.” A man at the other end of the table got up and gave the students a bright, wolfish grin. Rousseau had short black hair and seemed familiar to Harry, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Hermione was applauding eagerly and, when looking around, Harry realized most of the female students stared at Rousseau with dreamy eyes and blushing faces. _Were all French people related to Veelas or was this_ because _they were French?,_ Harry wondered and barely contained a snort when he saw Ron glaring alternately at Rousseau and Hermione. Snape, who sat next to the French man, looked ready for murder for some reason. At least the new teacher didn’t seem have the sparkling personality of Lockhart.

“Professor Slughorn, I'm happy to say, has agreed to resume his old post as Potions Professor.” Exited whispers and cheering met this announcement, intercepted by some shocked cries from the Slytherins. Dumbledore halted for a moment and held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Now, now. No reason to panic, Professor Snape will continue his duties as Head of Slytherin and also go on teaching. While Professor Slughorn will teach all OWL classes, Professor Snape will cover the NEWT courses of the sixth- and seventh-year students.”

Neville, who sat across from Harry, looked ready to cry and murmured, “I knew it, it _had_ to be too good to be true!”

“I thought you didn’t get an OWL in Potions?”, Harry asked in a whisper and Neville nodded. “Then you won’t have any lessons with him anyway.”

“But I will still see him in corridors...” Neville’s lip trembled, and Harry couldn’t believe that this was the same boy that had followed him to the Department of Mysteries. Where had all his courage gone?

Dumbledore had to clear his throat twice to restore calm and order. “Professor Snape has decided to dedicate additional time to his work as a Potions Master – for those not familiar with the subject, that means the research and development of new Potions.”

Then Professor Rousseau actually clapped Snape on his shoulder. Harry heard the whole student body as well as some of the teachers suck in a shocked breath in one bizarre, collective noise. For a short moment, the world stopped turning. And in a few days, students would even start to vow, having seen some people faint.

But the explosion everyone was waiting for didn’t happen. Snape had an impassive mask on his face and let his gaze wander over the tables. This was enough for most of the students to duck their heads.

When Dumbledore clapped his hands together, the tension broke. “Now, where was I? Ah yes. The post of Defence Against the Dark Arts will be taken by Professor Rousseau and we wish him much success.”

***

Late in the night, after much hubbub in the common room, things finally turned quiet in the tower. The students were tired after the excitement of the day and went to their dorms. Having talked to everyone they hadn’t already met at the welcoming feast, enquired about each other’s holidays, and made sure, all the trunks and other luggage were where they belonged, they were looking forward to crawl into their beds and under warm blankets where they were safely hidden from the storm outside. The rhythmic sound of raindrops falling against the windows had soon everyone deep asleep.

Securely enclosed behind the curtains of his bed, Harry was waiting for the familiar breathing of the other boys in the room to even out. He knew the sounds, that would indicate they had finally fallen asleep, by heart.

He too was tired, but he had one thing to deal with now that he was sure he wouldn’t be disturbed. Quietly, he unfolded the note from A. Then he took his wand and cast some silencing spells on his curtains, just to make sure. It was great to feel the magic flow through his hand and into the wand. Having gone for months without magic over the summer nearly managed to make him forget just how much he loved it. He would get used to doing the simplest things in the muggle-way and would only remember how much simpler magic made things, when he started using spells again. Of course he would always miss the tingling sensation of his magic being put to use, but that was something else. He doubted anyone could ever forget that, it was just too exhilarating.

Now that he knew how to get the note to the mirror, he just had to figure out an answer to the questions. And, of course, what he wanted to ask in turn.

He chewed on the end of this quill for some time before he started writing.

_Dear A_

_(Since you won’t tell me more about yourself, I’m at disadvantage and won’t be able to address you with Mrs or Mr)_

That wasn’t an actual question, but hopefully annoying enough for A to shed some light on things anyway.

_Yes, I’ve heard of the proverb you mentioned (was that your first question, by the way?). And while I understand the mindset, I’m afraid I don’t really approve of it. This may be because I’d rather not walk through live having to watch my back all the time – or because I’m a Gryffindor. I assume, you’re a Slytherin? (Don’t answer that if you count it as one of my questions, because I already suspect the answer.)_

_I won’t be able to agree with you about us being allies, though. At least not yet. No offence, but, since I don’t know who you are, it would be foolish to put my trust in you. For me, an ally is someone I can depend on. I guess, I’ll just have to wait and see if you are such a person to me – at least concerning the matters you claim we have a common goal in._

_In this regard, I want to thank you for your warning about the mirror. How you knew it was me on the other side, I can only guess._

That still wasn’t really a question, but Harry suspected, he was pushing it. Well, A would always be able to ignore what he wrote, anyway.

Answering A’s questions was a lot harder. He thought about telling A that he’d spent the summer alone or that the mirror on his side was in his private rooms or something like that. But, if A was able to see through the mirror (which he suspected because of the books and because the vase that one time had nearly hit his head) he or she would know he was lying. And then any hope for a truce would be shattered.

But lying was also a way to figure out how much A actually knew. Maybe he could try something like a half-truth?

_On to your first question: I assumed the mirror just contained wizarding space and wasn’t aware it was a portal. The mirror on my side is in an attic. Since summer has been hard on me, I wasn’t inclined to share the one place I could spend time alone with anyone else. And before you ask; no, I still haven’t told anyone about it. I’m afraid, I can only tell you so much without assurance that you won’t share my answers with anyone else._

He read the paragraph again and was satisfied. Then he moved on to the second question, which was less personal but way more complicated. Harry wasn’t stupid enough to admit to A that the Order sometimes did things that went against the law. Or anything about the Order at all for that matter. But then again, A hadn’t asked for that.

What was the real reason for Order not working with the Ministry?

Since Dumbledore was the leader, Fudge was probably a huge issue. If the Minister wasn’t such a fool, Dumbledore would be a lot more forthcoming towards the Ministry. But then again, he hadn’t been Minister in the last war, when the Order had been founded. And what had been Dumbledore’s motivation to establish the Order in the first place?

The Ministry couldn’t always be trusted. Since it had to rely on laws and bureaucracy (and a lot of stuff Harry didn’t really understand), infiltration was a much bigger danger to them than to the Order. The Ministry was also too big for anyone to keep track of what was going on. At least, until it got out that someone did something stupid. But even then, it was hard to determine who exactly did what, because most forms and edicts and files went through numerous divisions, bureaus and even more different hands. Things could easily get lost or changed in-between without anyone noticing.

So Harry wrote:

_My answer to your second question: One reason is, that it can be practical to have an organization that isn’t subjected to laws and formalities._

He read it again and realized, that it sounded a lot like something Umbridge would have said about what she’d been doing last year. And he also remembered thinking then, that everyone should have the same rights and laws, without any exceptions. Because, who had the right to decide when to make an exception and when not? And wasn’t every law at the same time a protection for someone or something else?

He erased the last line with a spell and pondered the question some more.

No matter what side of it he tried to contemplate, his thoughts always ended up with Dumbledore. He was the leader and the only one who knew everything of what the Order did. And he probably was also the reason why such an organisation could even exist without getting into trouble with the Ministry.

But that sounded so bad and Harry just knew that Dumbledore was on the... well... right side? Light side? Good side? He wasn’t sure how to call it. But Dumbledore would never, ever, not in a million years, try to use his power to control others.

Or maybe he would, but only if it was for a greater good. Was that so wrong?

But what exactly was the greater good?

In the end, he wrote:

_As for your second question: I’m not sure. Maybe it only started as a move against Voldemort. Not being subjected to laws and formalities, the Order can fight much better than the Ministry. And yes, I’m aware that Voldemort would claim the same reason for his actions; that he needed to rebuild the wizarding world in a way he wouldn’t have been able to with just politics._

_I also realize that, if someone told me such an argument, I’d tell them that’s just an excuse. Voldemort craves power more than anything else – which makes him so different from Dumbledore, who is still (only) Headmaster even if people wanted him to be Minister for Magic. Of course, this position holds power too, and one could argue that Dumbledore has A LOT of influence in the wizarding world._

_So, to answer your question: I have no idea. Which makes me wonder: do you? (Please consider this as my first question.)_

_As for my remaining one: you suggested that we have common goals – what are those? And I mean goals as in plural – after all, answering your questions nearly gave me a headache._

Harry read his answer again and again and again. It really didn’t contain anything dangerous but was a lot more personal than he’d intended. Then he had an idea. He spelled his quill and let it write the whole thing in steady, impersonal letters – just in case the letter got into the wrong hands or someone detected the Hidden Attic. He had no intention of anyone tracing this back to him. And even if someone did find the thing; like this, he could always deny any knowledge of it.

_At the end of the letter, he added:_

_Yours, H._

_Please don’t use my full name just in case this letter gets intercepted._

Then he called (or rather whispered, since it was night) for Kreacher and the elf appeared with a low _pop_ at the end of his bed.

“Hi Kreacher. I need you to do something for me. But first I have to ask you some questions”, he explained and then added, “Answer me quietly please – I don’t want anyone to know you’re here.”

The elf nodded with gleaming eyes. “Kreacher understands. Master Harry finally seems to develop some proper behaviour after all. Kreacher is pleased.”

Well, Harry thought, he should have expected Kreacher to love secrecy and conspiracies – he had for most of his life served Slytherins after all.

“Can you get away from the Hogwarts kitchens without anyone noticing?” Because if the elf couldn’t, Dumbledore would realize something was going on rather sooner than later. And then it would be obvious that Harry had given him some order.

But the elf nodded solemnly. “House elves can use magic differently from wizards – it is not difficult for us to get from one place to another. Other elves will wonder where Kreacher goes but he will tell them that he does cleaning in old classrooms.”

“Good, thanks. So, do you know of a second attic at Grimmauld Place? There are stairs behind the tapestry with two green trolls–“ Kreacher nodded again, so he continued “I want you to take a letter for me to the storage room there. There is a mirror, or rather a portal or whatever – put the letter through. Don’t put your hand inside, it could be dangerous; just throw it through the surface... After that, there should come an answer to my letter back through, but I have no idea how long that will take. Could you go to the mirror every once in a while, and check? And when the answer arrives, bring it to me as soon as I’m alone... don’t give my letter or the answer to anyone else. If you can’t put it through the mirror or someone catches you with it, you’re to destroy it, understood? Ah, and one more thing: don’t tell anyone I’ve given you this order. No matter who. Not even Dumbledore. _Especially_ not Dumbledore. Don’t look him in his eyes, or he will be able to read your thoughts. Alright?”

The elf was nodding enthusiastically throughout Harrys little speech and by the end he was practically bouncing. “Kreacher understands, Kreacher will do as Master Harry says, Kreacher will gladly help Master fool the old wizard.”

The letter was snatched out of his hand and Kreacher popped away.

 _The old wizard, huh?,_ Harry thought. He didn’t particularly care if Kreacher thought about it like this, but he would have to make sure the elf didn’t talk like this in front of everyone.

***

As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't be able to upload the next chapter tomorrow... things will be rather busy for me. Maybe I'll manage 'till Monday, we'll see. 
> 
> Next chapter will be "First week" and contain (if I manage follow my own notes for once...):  
> \- Snape threatening students that he WILL NOT TOLERATE any fools in his NEWT courses – of course, Harry gets detention and Professor McGonagall is NOT impressed  
> \- New DADA Professor is a gryffindorish Slytherin  
> \- The Trio wonders what Snape really needs more time for


	5. First Week, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The students get their class schedules (which are different now that they have NEWT courses) and have their first Potions lesson.  
> Snape is in a bad mood and deducts more points than Gryffindor has – and Harry gets a used edition of Advanced Potion Making and is not happy about the poor condition the book’s in. 
> 
> As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)

Learning how to live, chapter 5 – First Week, Part 1

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. –

***

Some more background stuff (and I really hope, I have everything this time)

  * Trickster32 was so nice to point out that Hermione being the Head Girl is not possible since she’s only in 6th year. (thanks for telling me, I completely forgot ;) ) For this story, this will still be the case. Reasons as to why this is so, will be explained in the next chapter.
  * Harry is not captain of the Quidditch team in this story. Dumbledore wants him to take lessons in Dark Magic as well as lessons with himself (you’ll learn later on what those are about :) ) and he wouldn’t have time for it. The Quidditch-ban from Umbridge however is not intact anymore – all her decrees have been decided invalid, including this one
  * Fred and George however didn’t return to Hogwarts; they work fulltime at WWW
  * There will be an Animagus-course (like the Apparition-classes from the Ministry). I know that becoming an Animagus is very difficult according to the books. In this story it will still be very difficult, and while some people will manage, most will only be able to transform with auxiliary means.



I had to split this chapter into two parts because it somehow grew way longer than I anticipated. So, you’ll have to wait for the part about the crazy DADA-Professor and the Trio wondering what Snape’s up to at least until tomorrow. But then again, Snape’s appearance is a bit longer and hopefully much more interesting this way :)

***

The class schedules of Harry and the others in sixth year were quite different to the years prior. They didn’t have that many courses anymore, just the ones they managed to get OWLs in and wanted to continue. Harry only selected the core classes, Transfiguration, Charms, Defence, Herbology and Potions.

When he wanted to sing up for a beginners-class in Runes, Professor McGonagall, who was distributing the timetables and overseeing all adjustments and changes, dissuaded him from this idea. She argued that he would need a lot of time for extracurricular activities and handed him two notes; one from Dumbledore and the other from Snape. The headmaster was gone from the school at the moment, but starting next week, Harry would have lessons with him every Tuesday afternoon. The lessons with Snape, too, wouldn’t start until next week and were every Tuesday evening and, much to Harrys chagrin, the whole Saturday morning.

Most of the classes had double or even quadruple lessons and McGonagall warned them that every course would assign much more homework and essays.

There was one additional course Harry was allowed to sign up for, which wouldn’t start until after the Yule Holidays: Animagus Transformation. It meant another six lessons and at least eight hours of studying every week, as McGonagall cautioned him. But Harry was sure, he would be able to manage that somehow. And it was something he absolutely wanted to learn.

Harry realized that the year would become very stressful. He would have six classes, the two additional courses with Snape and Dumbledore, as well as training with the Quidditch team – if he would pass the try-outs again.

Katie Bell was their new Captain and thankfully she wasn’t as manic about the whole thing as Angelina – and Oliver – always had been. She informed every one of their old team that there would be try-outs on Saturday in two weeks. They would need two new beaters to fill in for Fred and George and two Chasers for Angelina and Alicia. Katie, Ron and Harry would have to fly at the try-outs as well, but Katie told them, she wanted to keep at least a few people on the team who had played before. It would be too difficult to work with a team entirely made up of new people. 

***

Their first class on Monday morning was a quadruple lesson in Potions, much to Ron’s and Harry’s dismay. Sure, they both wanted NEWTs in the subject, but the perspective of spending both Monday and Friday morning every week for a whole _year_ in the dungeons wasn’t appealing to say the least. They shuffled down into the clammy territory of the Potions Master together with Hermione and a few students of Ravenclaw – no Hufflepuff had signed up for the course, they were all too terrified of Snape. Harry knew some of the Ravenclaws like Michal Corner, Anthony Goldstein and Terry Boot from the DA, but others like Lisa Turpin and Su Li, he’d hardly ever spoken a word with.

The Slytherins were already waiting when they entered the classroom. Malfoy sat alone for once, it wasn’t surprising Crabbe and Goyle hadn’t managed to get a Exceeds Expectations in their OWLs. Zabini, Nott and Parkinson were there as well, sitting in the front row.

Then Snape stalked past them with his robes billowing ominously, and they hurried to their seats. There was no need for Snape to tell them to shut up, everyone who had managed to get this far in Potions knew well enough how to behave in the classroom.

Harry kept his eyes fixed on the table before him. Hopefully Snape would continue to ignore him like last year after the debacle with the Pensive. It would be great if he’d actually get to concentrate on what was happening in his cauldron for once. And now that Crabbe and Goyle weren’t here anymore, he hoped Malfoy wouldn’t dare sabotaging his Potions all the time.  

Snape stared them down like on their first day here, waiting until the silence grew taunt with expectation. Then he started his speech in his usual threatening voice that was barely above a whisper. “The Headmaster deemed it necessary to lower the terms of admission to this class, in favour to _certain students_ who only managed to get an Exceeds Expectations on their OWLs. This may have some of you assume, that I too, will be satisfied with anything less than an Outstanding. In this case, you are wrong.”

Harry felt Snapes glare on him, but he didn’t lift his head, certain that the anger would show on his face. Snape was just waiting for an excuse to deduct points or humiliate him in front of everyone. Harry took a deep breath and tried to relax before his magic would start acting up again. It wasn’t his fault that Dumbledore wanted him to become an Auror no matter what. If anything, he had even more reason to be angry about this than Snape did.

Then the prickling feeling of the glare vanished and Snape continued his speech. “There is no such thing as a nearly perfect Potion. Particularly not for the Potions you will be working on to achieve your NEWTs. It either is perfect or not. If you are lucky, it will simply be useless. If not, it will turn explosive or lethal.”

Snape got up and started walking between the tables. He halted before some of the students and stared at them as if he was looking right into their souls. Which he probably was. Harry remembered well enough what Legilimency looked right.

Then the Professor arrived at their table and Ron tried to turn his whimpering into a cough. Harry glanced upwards and saw Snape smirk maliciously. The bastard was enjoying the effect he had on students way too much.

“There will be no... _fooling around_ in my class... You will arrive here prepared and attentive. I will not tolerate any half-hearted work. _If_ I catch one of you not paying attention, I can promise you, the consequences will be... _dire_.”

Much to everyone’s surprise, Snape didn’t turn back to the teacher’s desk when he’d disassembled all the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, but continued on to the Slytherins. Malfoy’s gulp was audible in the entire room. “If I catch anyone _experimenting_... or sabotaging someone else’s Potion, you will be expelled from this course.”

“You will do _exactly_ as you’re instructed. And you will only follow _my_ instructions. I don’t care how smart you think you are or how many books you have read...” It was Hermiones turn to flush and sink deeper into her chair. “... you will do as you are told and do _only_ as you are told. Is that clear?”

A chorus of “Yes, Sir!”, echoed through the classroom. Snape didn’t seem satisfied and sneered at all of them.

 _Honestly_ , Harry groaning inwardly, _why in Merlin’s name did I sing up for this?!_ He glanced around and was comforted by the fact that he wasn’t the only one to regret his decision. Most of the students looked ready to run.

Harry felt horrible for thinking so, but he was glad he wouldn’t be last in class. Ron was even worse than him. He had only managed to get his Exceeds Expectations thanks to Hermione who had literally drilled the knowledge into him in the weeks before the OWLs.

His friend leaned over to him and whispered. “The greasy git sure is in a bad mood! You’d think he’d loosen up a bit now that he has only two classes to teach, wouldn’t you?!”

Before Harry could even open his mouth, Snapes asked with a deceptive smile, “Tell me, Mr Weasley, what part of _you will only do what I tell you to_ did you not understand? Did you hear me instruct you to whisper to your neighbour?”

Ron straightened up in his chair. Trying to stop him, Harry shoved him with his elbow, but Ron ignored him. “You didn’t say that, _Sir,_ you said _you will do as you are told._ And I _didn’t_ hear you saying we weren’t allowed to talk.”

Ugh. Harry wanted to scream at his friend. They’d start off with their house points in the negative if he continued like this. 

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley, for insolence.” Snape smiled like the cat who swallowed the canary. “And let’s see... Another ten points for stupidity and – is that jam on your robe? – another ten for appearing to class inappropriately dressed.”

Hermione’s hand shot in the air and she cried, “But Sir, you can’t deduct points for his attire, in _Hogwarts A History_ , the rules for deducting points– “

“Ten points, Miss Granger, for speaking out of term and ten points for thinking you know more than your Professor. Do you want to continue? I don’t mind deducting more points all morning long. And if there are no more points to remove, I can always just reward the other houses for _not_ doing whatever you Gryffindors do.”

She didn’t talk back, but continued to glare at Snape. The Potions Master didn’t look impressed, rather the opposite.

Harry ground his teeth together. He wouldn’t say anything, he _wouldn’t_. No need to get into a fight with Snape before he’d even had his first private lesson. The shadows beside the teacher’s desk started to swirl around, reaching for the black robes of the Professor.

Michael Corner gave a terrified squeak. “What’s that?!”

The other students didn’t seem to be able to see anything out of the ordinary. Harry was secretly delighted that for once, their attention wasn’t on him and it was someone else acting strange. But then Snape’s stare wasn’t directed at Michael but at Harry and he gulped. Of course Snape would know that this was his doing. And no matter how unintentional it was, Harry was sure he would get blamed for it. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to calm himself. Concentrating hard, he could feel how the black strands withdrew reluctantly, until finally, they were just ordinary shadows again.   

Snape turned his gaze to Michael. “Is there something you want to share with the class, Mr Corner? No? Then I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

Tapping his wand against the blackboard, Snape continued on and explained the course-outline. Harry wasn’t listening. _Why_ hadn’t Snape said anything? This was already the second time.

Harry was certain Snape knew it had been him. He’d nearly attacked a Professor; for Snape not to punish him was a miracle – or just frightening, actually. It wasn’t like Snape had ever cared before about being able to prove who had done something. Harry had always been the perfect scapegoat.

So maybe the black stuff was something he didn’t want to mention before a class?

If the Professor decided to interrogate him, he’d better be prepared for it. This time, Harry wouldn’t be able to talk himself out of the situation by blaming it on the locket. But how was he supposed to talk himself out of something he didn’t even understand himself?

And he wasn’t going to pour out his heart to the Professor about how his magic seemed to act strange because of his emotional turmoil. He could just imagine how disgusted Snape would be if Harry whined to him about how unfair his life was and how horrible his summer had been and that he couldn’t handle the guilt for Sirius’ death – he’d probably laugh at his face. Or sneer at him about how life wasn’t _fair_ and that he should stop being such a child.

Ugh. Harry wanted to bang his head on the table.

There was nothing he could do right now anyway, so it would be better to concentrate on what Snape was explaining. It would be downright suicidal to give the Professor another reason to be angry with Harry.

“... time-consuming Potions. You will work on them Monday and Friday as well as in your free time. Some Potions will need daily attention which you _will_ pay to them. If one of you manages to ruin his or her Potion because you are too lazy, I will not only fail you, but you will also cover the costs of the ingredients.”

Harry glanced at Ron, trying to figure out what Snape was talking about. But Ron was scratching angrily around in his journal. It looked like a very rude drawing of an oversized bat.

“The first Potion you will be working on is the Purifying-draught, also called the Moon-Ice-Potion. If some of you should actually manage to follow the instructions correctly, you will finish it just before the Yule Holidays.”

“At the beginning of December, you will additionally have to start preparations for the base of the Living Shield Potion. Those of you that have arrived here prepared will know that it is also called _how_ , Mr Goldstein?”

Anthony cleared his throat and puffed out his breast. “Wings of Icarus, I think?”

“You think?”, repeated Snape. “I’m surprized you’re actually capable of that. It is, however, not what I asked... and yes, the Living Shield Potion also goes by the name of Wings of Icarus. And why, Mr Malfoy, will you have to start with the base of it at the beginning of December?”

“Because it contains gold that has been reshaped by dragon-fire, which means it is almost impossible to be melted.” Malfoy smiled when Snape nodded approvingly and continued, “It will have to simmer for a minimum of three months in a mixture of Lemongrass, powdered Dragon Horn, Rat Spleen, Poison Ivy, Hellebore and Flitterbloom.”

“Indeed, Mr Malfoy, ten points to Slytherin.” Snape let his gaze wander over all of them. “I will not remind you to start working on the base. You are in a NEWTs course, which means you will have to work independently. The instructions are in your books on page 164.”

“The potion, as Mr Malfoy said, will have to simmer until the end of February. During this time, we will cover some less time-consuming Potions like the Draught of living Death, Amortentia, Shrinking Solution and Volubilis Potion.”

“Those of you who have managed to get a correct base for the Living Shield Potion will finish it in March. In April you will work on Polyjuice Potion and start the base of the Heritage Potion, also called the Bloodline Potion. You will finish it at the beginning of June.”

Snape smiled, or rather showed them his crooked teeth. “The weighing of your grades will correspond to the amount of time needed for the potions. This means, the Purifying-draught, Living Shield Potion, Polyjuice Potion and Bloodline Potion will primarily decide your grade. If you get a Troll on one of them, you will not only fail, I will also expel you from this course immediately. If you get two Dreadful’s, you fail. If you get three Poor’s, you fail as well.”

“There will be homework and essays on a regular basis. Do them half-heartedly and I will fail you. If I get the impression that any of you don’t take this course seriously, I will fail you... I do not care if you need a NEWT in Potions for whatever you want to do after you leave Hogwarts. If you’re not interested in Potions or have no talent for them, there is no place for you in this class. Do I make myself clear?”

There was another “Yes, Sir!” and Snape looked satisfied. “Open your books on page 38 and start the with the preparations for the Purifying-draught.”

Harry opened his book on the instructed page. Somehow it didn’t look at all like the Purifying-draught – and for Harry to realize that, it _had_ to be completely wrong. It showed instructions on how to cut up Shrivelfigs. And while it explained a lot to him about what he’d always done wrong, the name _Purifying-draught_ didn’t show up even once.

He glanced at Ron’s book and saw the same pages. Hermione on the other hand had a very different book before her. An uneasy feeling crept up on him. He shoved Ron and gestured for him to get her attention. Then he whispered, “What’s that book you have there?”

“ _Advanced Potion-Making_ by Libatius Borage?” She just looked at him oddly before comprehension dawned on her face. “Oh Harry; didn’t Professor Dumbledore tell you you’ll have to get a copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ for the NEWTs course? It wouldn’t have been on your supply list, since he changed the terms of admission only in August...”

Ron groaned. “Oh no. Snape’s going to kill us.”

It turned out, they weren’t the only ones. A total of seven students didn’t have the required books. Snape wasn’t pleased, but at least he didn’t deduct points (probably because three of the students were Slytherins). Instead, he went to the storage room and handed out some old exemplars of _Advanced Potion-Making._

Harry got the most battered copy which nearly fell apart in his hands. He glared at Snape who watched him with half-closed eyes. “Careful, Mr Potter, you wouldn’t want to damage school property.”

When he opened the book, deciding that Snapes comment wasn’t worth an answer, he saw that most of the contents were rendered unreadable. There were notes scribbled over every part of the page and most of the instructions were crossed out and adjusted. How in Merlin’s name was he supposed to work with _that_?!

“Uhm, Sir?” He _tried_ to sound polite. It seemed to not work well.

“That was neither a question I can answer nor comprehensible language, Mr Potter. If you’re incapable of such a simple thing as speech, you are definitely in the wrong place here, no matter what the headmaster thinks.” The Professor was still towering over him, staring down his nose.

“I can’t read this”, Harry ground out, the rage already boiling and swirling inside of him again.

“Is that so. Being the Chosen One seems to have gotten to your head, Mr Potter”, he drawled. “Do you expect me to read the instructions out loud for you? Maybe you will also need someone to prepare the ingredients for you, so your hands won’t get dirty?”

The Slytherins and even some of the Ravenclaws snickered and Harry clenched his hands to fists until he felt his nails pierce his skin. “No, _Sir._ I merely meant– “

“Then stop distracting your classmates Mr Potter and start working. Ah, and ten points from Gryffindor for... being a nuisance.”

***

By the time the morning was over, Harry was ready to go to Dumbledore and refuse outright to become an Auror. There was _no way_ he would put up with this for two more years. He’d followed the adjusted instructions of his book, not even trying to decipher what was written under all the notes. He’d halfway hoped the potion would blow up, just so he could blame Snape. Unfortunately, it had turned out not only correct – but even better than Hermione’s.

He used knife and fork to massacre his lunch, not really hungry at all.

Yes, he would tell Dumbledore just exactly what he thought of Snape. The man was absolutely _impossible_. How could Dumbledore expect anyone to learn something from him?! One of the Ravenclaw girls had even burst to tears by the end of the lesson.

And then, when Harry had already been struggling to control his ire, Malfoy had started taunting him again. They hadn’t even been out of the classroom and Harry had known Snape was just waiting for an excuse, but he couldn’t help himself. Before Ron or Hermione could stop him, he’d drawn his wand and hexed the other boy.

Snape gave him a week detention with Filch. _Better with the caretaker than with Snape himself_ , Harry thought, stabbing his broccoli to death. Like this, there was less chance that he’d get into even more trouble.

At least, Malfoy now had pink hair and a horrible green moustache that he couldn’t seem to get off. Ron had congratulated Harry and promised he’d write a certificate documenting his deed and put it up in the common room. Hermione had been angry and told him it served him right to have detention. Somehow, by the time they had gotten to the great hall for lunch, this had resulted in two of them bickering _again._

Harry stared at his plate and contemplated the colourful mess he’d made. So far, his resolve to be more mature didn’t work out so far. At least, Snape seemed to have forgotten the mishap with Harrys magic. But he was sure the git would remember eventually, so Harry had better think of an explanation and _soon_.

 _And_ he had to figure out how to get his magic under control again.

“Mr Potter, a word?” Professor McGonagall was standing right behind him, her lips thin and her expression sour.

“Uh, sure?” He got up and waved to his friends. “See you in Defence.”

The Professor led him out of the hall and into an empty classroom on the first floor. _This couldn’t be good, then_ , Harry speculated. _She only ever does that if something bad has happened or if I have done something really wrong._

She gestured for him to take a seat before leaning against the desk opposite him. “Professor Snape told me about what had transpired in Potions this morning. I must say, I am very disappointed with you, Mr Potter. Such behaviour is not only dishonourable, but also very dangerous to someone in your position. I had hoped, you would have learned your lesson with what happened last year.”

Harry stared at her, feeling bewildered and offended. “Professor, what exactly are we talking about? Malfoy insulted me first and you should know that Snape always– “

“ _Professor_ Snape, Mr Potter”, McGonagall corrected him tightly. “And no matter what Mr Malfoy may have said to you, it is no reason to hex an unharmed student.”

“He wasn’t unharmed!”, Harry cried indignantly and got to his feet before he could help himself. The stern look she levelled him with, had him sink down on the chair again, and add in a more level voice, “He was just too slow to draw his own wand.”

This got the tell-tale twitch of her lip that meant she was suppressing a smile. “Surely you realize that an incident like this would have dire consequences if the Prophet got wind of it?”

“I only changed the colour of his hair and gave him a moustache. I’d rather think it would be humiliating for Malfoy to have his picture printed like this”, Harry countered stubbornly. To hell with behaving mature. Dumbledore and the Weasleys and now even McGonagall seemed all have decided that he needed to be _managed._ He didn’t need their help – or rather, they’d never helped him before, not with stuff like this – so why did they think they had any right to get involved with his life now?!

McGonagall apparently didn’t think this was amusing. Her voice was severe and rivalled Snape’s. “Mr Potter, the wizarding world is at war. You are one of the figureheads, wherever you want that or not. You can’t go around hexing other people like an emotional teenager.”

Yeah. Right. There we go again.

Harry felt something being crushed inside of him and he thought he sounded more desperate than stubborn when he answered, “But I _am_ a teenager.”

He stared at his hands. There were crescent-shaped imprints of his nails in his palms. He’d need to remember to heal them, before Hermione had a chance of discovering them or she’d start to analyse his mental state again.

Merlin, he was so fed up with all of this. He nearly wished to go back to the Dursleys. There he would be alone in his room at least, and could just sleep. He wouldn’t have to _think_ and there would be no chance to be disappointed because he wouldn’t be stupid enough to expect something so simple like sympathy or compassion – or merlin forbid, _support_. No, he would just be the boy or freak, depending on his uncles’ moods. But wasn’t that better than being The Boy Who Lived? At least, there weren’t any expectations.

He stared back at McGonagall and wondered what she saw when she looked at him. A brave young Gryffindor, someone who was just being a bit stubborn at the moment? The Boy who would save them all from Voldemort? Or did she see the son of James Potter who had been a great auror and one of her most esteemed students?

Swallowing hard, he tried to get his emotions under control. “Alright, I’m sorry. Do I have to apologize to Malfoy, too?”

McGonagall seemed unsure of his reaction and pursed her lips. “No. But should such behaviour occur again, there will be consequences.”

Harry wondered if she was going to say anything else and tried to look bored as he gazed around the room. There here was a blackboard with a huge crack in the middle and a cage that reminded him of the one Professor Lockhart had kept the Pixies in.

Then he remembered something else he could try and ask. McGonagall had helped him before after all. “Professor? Would it still be possible to quit Potions?”

Her eyebrows rose. Then she tapped a chair with her wand, whereon it turned into a high-backed chair just like the one in her office, and took a seat. “I’m afraid not, Mr Potter. And why, If I may ask, would you want to do that? I thought it was your dream to become an Auror.”

“With Sn– Professor Snape as a teacher I’m not going to pass anyway. And about becoming an Auror...” He hesitated. He could hardly tell her that he just didn’t want to follow whatever Dumbledore had planned him. And he still had no idea what else he _could_ do. “Well, I’m not so sure about that anymore. Maybe I’d prefer to do something a bit more... peaceful?”

“You realize that for most careers a NEWT in Potions will be necessary?”, she enquired with a thoughtful look on her face and he nodded. “And may I ask, Mr Potter, does your change of heart have anything to do with certain people at the ministry?”

Harry remembered how she had defended him to Umbridge not even a year ago. That had been great. He’d admired her a lot for that and some part of him still did. But then she’d also told his career-plans to Dumbledore. He really couldn’t be sure if she was on his side in this or not.

“That, too. But I also think that if I ever manage to defeat Voldemort– sorry Professor”, he corrected himself when she startled. “...that if I manage to defeat _him_ , I would be glad to do something entirely different afterwards. Something that doesn’t require me to fight and won’t put much attention on me.”

That seemed to soothe her somewhat and she answered slowly, seeming to weigh each word carefully. “Well, Mr Potter, while I do understand your reasons, I’d think it prudent for you to aim for a career as an Auror – at least at the moment. None of us know for how long this war will last. It is quite possible that it will continue for another decade. As for what you want to do after that; there will still be time to consider this question when the time comes.”

Harry stared at his hands. So she definitely was on Dumbledore’s side. He wouldn’t have anything else to say to her then. At least not concerning matters like this.

“Now hurry along, Mr Potter, or you’ll be late for Defence.” She hesitated and her eyes softened. “I know this isn’t easy for you Mr Potter. But we all have our burdens to carry.”

***

As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will definitely contain the part about the crazy DADA-Professor and the Trio wondering what Snape’s up to – and maybe even an answer from A. 
> 
> Thanks


	6. First Week, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Harry is brooding and then brooding some more  
> \- the new DADA Professor is crazy  
> \- Ron is clueless about girls

Learning how to live, chapter 6 – First Week, Part 2

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. –

***

Notes:

  * The whole Blood Quill incident in fifth year will be regarded in a different light in this story (or at least Harry’s reaction to it). Him not wanting to tell an adult isn’t actually self-harm behaviour, but Hermione can be a bit... overly dramatic? And Harry will develop more and more behaviour like this as the story goes on.
  * With regard to this; there will be future warnings for all kinds of stuff. I didn’t put all the warnings into the tags, because I don’t want you figuring out the plot beforehand. I did however, tag the story as Mature for a reason; there will be themes like murder, gore, molesting and suicide-attempt later on – don’t worry, I will put in warnings at the beginning of chapters so you don’t have to read them if you don’t want to.
  * I’m aware that there are traditional rules for duelling. But I don’t see any reason why duelling in a different kind of way couldn’t be used at school for exercise.



***

Harry knew he was late for Defence but still stumbled into one of the alcoves on his way there. He leaned his head against the cool stone, closed his eyes and tried to keep his emotions in check. The last thing he needed was another accident with his magic.

It hurt to lose all trust he’d had in McGonagall. She’d been one person he’d felt he could rely on. Not in a motherly way like Mrs Weasley, but more like someone you could ask for advice. She would still be his head of house of course, and help him with stuff like Quidditch or getting good enough grades. But he would never be able to trust her motivation from now on.

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised about the whole thing. He’d known he was a figurehead for the war for years. It was one of the things that had shaped him; after all, he was always trying to live up to the person they saw in him. The Boy Who Lived. James Potters son. Leader of the DA. The perfect Gryffindor... Maybe even The One To Stand Up To Snape or The One Who Always Gets Into Fights With Malfoy... ah, but that was a bit too long a name and people were only ever able to remember the really short stuff; like Seeker For Gryffindor or Speaking Parseltongue or Champion Of The Triwizard Tournament. All things leading to or surrounding those capital words never mattered to anyone.

No one ever seemed to realize he was just sixteen.

Just sixteen, for merlin’s sake! He’d no idea how the world worked or what to do with his life (except defeating Voldemort – not that he had any idea how exactly he was supposed to do _that_ ) or who he even was or wanted to become or even if he liked girls or boys!

It was like, like... well, expecting a fourteen-year-old to defeat a dragon. Maybe he should have failed spectacularly somewhere along the way so people wouldn’t think he was capable of everything. Unfortunately, in all those things failure would have meant death. And wasn’t _that_ a happy thought.

And now he was The Chosen One.

He _did_ wonder what people would do if he died. It made some part of him even laugh. He could just imagine the Prophet going hysteric or Dumbledore bemoaning the loss of his most important weapon. Or Snape feeling sorry for being such a git? Maybe... No, probably not.

Gods, he felt tired. What would Sirius have said to him, thinking such thoughts? He’d probably have been disappointed, told him that James would never have lost his courage. That his parents had died for him, that he should be grateful. That he owned it to them.

It was funny, people always said that. He was pretty sure, Mrs and Mr Weasleys would _never_ want their children to feel responsible for getting revenge if something were to happen to them. Pretty much any parent he knew, really. It seemed like the job of a parent not to want such a fate for their child.

Harry wouldn’t have a choice in the end and deep down, he knew that. The prophecy had been clear about it. So, all this whining wouldn’t help.

He was just so... exhausted. Tired of pretending to be strong. Tired of doing things he thought someone else ought to be doing. Things weren’t even that _bad_ , at least at the moment, but he just... he didn’t even know what it was that made him feel this way. But he felt hollowed out and fake and like he didn’t belong here at all. 

Maybe he could just run away.

He had thought of that before, quite a few times actually. Sure, he wouldn’t get an education at Hogwarts but that was about the only thing he’d miss, right? He would escape the Headmaster and Snape and the Ministry and the Prophet and Voldemort and the Dursleys... seemed like more than enough good reasons for him.

 _Ah, but there are also your friends_ , reminded him some part of his brain, one he right now hated with all his heart. _You would never see them again. You would disappoint them, abandon them._ And all those people _depending_ on him... Even if he hated the feeling, he couldn’t just let them down, could he?

Damn it. _Damn it_ , damn it! He needed– something. He realized well enough there was something wrong with him and he should do something or talk to someone. But he _never_ talked about stuff like this. It felt wrong to even contemplate it. And he knew people wouldn’t get it. He’d tried to never show them any weakness – or rather his dark thoughts, how he liked to call them – so it was his own fault they wouldn’t understand. 

Well, for now, he should probably go to class. He was way too late already and there was no need to start on bad terms with the new Professor.

Reluctantly he drew himself up and made some grimaces to get the blood in his face flowing again. Then he remembered his thoughts from his talk with McGonagall’s and cast a healing spell on his hands. He didn’t need Hermione holding him a lecture on self-harm behaviour. She’d already tried that last year when he’d refused to go to McGonagall about Umbridge and her Blood Quill. It had ended with them not speaking to each other for weeks.

***

He made his way to the classroom and felt more like himself with every step. Or at least more certain, no one would realize a difference in his demeanour.

Then he opened the door, hushed inside and scurried to a seat beside Ron. He was glad when the Professor didn’t turn around and continued explaining the writing on the backboard. When Ron shot him a questioning look, he shrugged his shoulders and got his Defence books out of his bag.

“You are Mr Potter, I assume?” Rousseau looked him up and down; as much as was possible with Harry sitting behind a table. When Harry nodded and opened his mouth to explain, the Professor shook his head. “Don’t worry, Mr Potter, I’m not going to deduct points. Actually, and that goes for all of you; I’m not a supporter of the house-system, so I’ll never give or take any points. No matter what.”

Most of the students looked gobsmacked. Some, like Ron, had dreamy expressions on their faces and Harry too, was hoping this teacher would be someone unbiased like Lupin. But then again, Rousseau probably wouldn’t be staying for long, anyway. Clapping Snape on the shoulder had been suicide; this morning bets had already started going around of how long Rousseau would last before getting poisoned. Going by the odds, he should drop dead any moment.

“Ha-ha, you all should see your barmy smiles right now!”, he exclaimed and jumped down to the first row. “You! Miss...?”

“Granger, Sir.”

“Miss Granger it is, then.” He gave a mocking little bow. “You were the only one not looking happy when I just said that. Why is that?”

Hermione seemed embarrassed, her ears turning pink. “Because I assumed you wouldn’t hand out much homework or arrange for a good learning environment.”

Rousseau’s grin grew wider. “No worry, Miss Granger, your concerns are very reasonable. You do want to learn something in this course, I assume?”

This time his gaze included all of them, but only some people nodded.

“I see... How very disappointing.” His expression hardened and suddenly he didn’t look like such an easy-going person anymore. “Everyone who doesn’t agree with Miss Granger, leave the room and don’t come back.”

No one was moving, too thrown off guard to react in any way. It was deadly silent, and the class seemed nothing like Lupin’s at all.

Rousseau still grinned this wolfish grin of his. “The same goes for anyone who thinks you won’t need to do any studying or reading or practicing or _work_ for that matter.”

Still, no one moved, and most people avoided his gaze.

“Mr Potter, care to explain why you were late?”

He felt himself flush under the intense stare. This was one class he definitely didn’t want to give up on, no matter who the teacher was. He forced himself to lift his face and tell the truth. “I had a meeting with Professor McGonagall, Sir. But I guess I could have been here sooner if I had hurried up afterwards. I’m sorry Sir, it won’t happen again.”

Somewhere behind him, Malfoy snickered. Harry guessed, he’d sounded like a child, but he didn’t care. Defence was the only thing he was good at and enjoyed doing because of what it _was_ and not because of the way a class was. So, it wasn’t such a hardship to do this. It was his fault. He’d been late for a much more embarrassing reason than anyone would guess. And he’d promised to act more adult a hundred times; and now he’d gone and done something childish _again_.

“No worry, Mr Potter, like I said, there will be no punishments in my class. At least not the ones you are used to.” He went back to the teacher’s desk and leaned against it. “You’re all here of your own choice, unlike the lower classes. I don’t care if you miss classes or don’t do your homework. However, I won’t explain things to you twice. I will make my best effort to educate you in all things considered Defence Against the Dark Arts. In return, I expect you not to waste my time. For everyone who can’t live with that; there’s the door.”

There was another stretched silence. Then Rousseau started pacing in front of the class, only stopping to look at one student or another. “Mr Malfoy, I assume?”, he suddenly enquired only it wasn’t really a question. “Yes, the resemblance is rather striking, and I knew your grandfather well enough.”

“Yes Sir.” Malfoy sounded smug. He probably thought this was another teacher who would favour him like Snape did. “I assume, you’re related to my grandfather’s sister, Lucia Rousseau, nee Malfoy?”

“I am...”, Rousseau confirmed, but his smile was cold. “Care to explain what was so funny about Mr Potters explanation?”

Mortified, Harry wanted to sink into his chair. He wasn’t a five-year-old in need of an adult looking out for him. _Especially_ not against Malfoy.

Malfoy seemed to sense some danger in the question, because his answer was cautious. “Mr Potter and I are known to have a certain... rivalry. He hexed me this morning, I was just thinking of how I could get back at him.”

“Understandable”, agreed the Professor. “Mr Potter, I heard you taught a group of students last year in order to minimize the consequences of Umbridge’s attempt at schooling?”

Harry nodded, unsure of where this would go. Ron tried to get his attention, but he didn’t dare look away from the Professor. He felt like a mouse in a trap.

“Mr Malfoy, I assume your father has ensured you are educated in duelling?”

Uh-oh, now he had an idea, but it wasn’t good. Or maybe it was. But if they were about to duel, Harry would have to make sure he didn’t give the git a chance to humiliate in front of everyone.

“Good. Step to the front, both of you.” Rousseau moved the teacher’s desk to the back of the wall with a flick of his wand and added an oval shape to the floor. He held his wand in his left hand – and only then Harry noticed that he was wearing a glove on his right. Harry thought it strange but didn’t pay it any more attention. Instead he got up and glanced at Malfoy who smirked at him.

“Good luck, mate”, whispered Ron and even Hermione, who sat on the other side of the room, made an encouraging hand sign.

“Step into the marked section on the floor. Good. Now, the rules: no Dark Arts of course, and no lethal curses or hexes. Your goal is to get your opponent out of the marked section, not to actually hurt or render unconscious. Is that clear?”

They both nodded. Malfoy seemed to already be pondering ways to get around that wording and Harry tried to think of ways to stay one step ahead of him. He _did_ have some ideas, but none of them seemed very useful. If worst came to worst, he could always pretend to be Luna and confuse him. Or punch him in his face.

“Ah yes. To make things more interesting for the audience and because your behaviour has been that of children with too much energy...” With another flick of Rousseau’s wand, the stone under their feet turned to ice. Or rather something looking like ice but much more slippery. Harry had to raise both his arms in order to maintain his balance. Malfoy didn’t fare much better and gave an undignified yelp. “...Voilà. One more rule; you’re not allowed to alter the floor. Since taking a bow seems to be a bit too much to ask of you, you may begin _now._ ”

Malfoy shot the first curse way before Harry was ready, but thankfully it missed him by miles. The blonde lost his balance because of the arm movement and started flailing absurdly, making the class laugh.

Harry considered a moment throwing a sticking-charm at himself, but then, if Malfoy would use a strong curse, he would be pushed backwards even with a shield; with his feet stuck to the floor it would have him toppling over. So instead, he shot a tripping jinx at is opponent, which only needed a little flick of his wand.

Malfoy drew up a shield and deflected the hex, but it nearly cost him his balance again.

They both hesitated. It was kind of difficult to duel if every move could make you slip.

The students started muttering and asking questions, but Harry paid them no attention. Then he had an idea. The rules of the duel forbade altering the floor or using any curses he’d need to dodge. Thinking that Malfoy would be too proud to copy the move, he went down on his knees.

Taking advantage of Malfoys surprise, he threw _Locomotor Wibbly, Furnunculus_ and _Titillando_ at him in rapid succession. Malfoy got up a shield again, but by the third charm he stumbled and landed on his bum. This had the other students laughing and cheering.

Malfoy sent Harry a death glare and started hurling curses Harry had never heard of. He raised his strongest shield and hoped it would hold. It did, but barely. And he needed a better strategy.

He cast another _Furnunculus,_ then accio’d his book from the desk and caught it in his left hand. Then, just after Malfoy sent a mean-looking purple hex at him, he threw the book with one hand and cast _Locomotor Wibbly_ with this other.

Of course, Malfoy dodged the book and blocked the jinx. The students hooted, and someone called, “Hey Potter, did you think summoning stuff is going to save your hide every time?”

Harry got up to his feet and Malfoy, out of stubborn pride, followed suit, like Harry hoped he would. Then he cast _Furnunculus_ , which made Malfoy use the same one-sided shield he’d used every time, and accio’d the book again, putting as much power behind the spell as he could.

The book smacked hard into Malfoys back and the blonde swirled around angrily, thinking one of the other students had thrown something. “Who– “

Harry used the opening, whispered _Petrificus Totalus_ and hit Malfoy square in his back. It wasn’t elegant or honourable, but it worked. Malfoy froze and fell, Mouth still open and an angry frown on his face.

Some students cheered, and Ron gave a loud whistle, but Rousseau didn’t comment, seemingly waiting for something. Harry wasn’t sure what, so he moved toward him. “Sir? I didn’t use any of the spells that weren’t allowed. And you didn’t say we couldn’t summon things, so– “

“You lose, Mr Potter”, interrupted him Rousseau just as he sat his feet on solid stone again. “While I must say you’re fighting was intriguing and certainly creative, the rules of the duel stated, that the one first leaving the circle would be the loser. You just crossed the line.”

There was some more whispering of the students and someone shouted, “That’s not fair, he clearly beat Malfoy!”

Harry continued to stare at the Professor, his mind whirling. It grated on his nerves to be tricked like that, to have his victory taken from him, and yet, he felt that this was a very important lesson for him to learn.

Things were not always what they seemed to be. You could _think_ you knew what it took to win and be digging your own grave at the same time. You should never, ever lose sight of what your actual goal is – not only concentrate on what you imagine it will look like when you reach it.

Meanwhile, Rousseau strolled over to the still frozen Malfoy and cast _finite._ “Mr Malfoy you win. However, if this were a real fight, you would certainly be in trouble. Pride has its place on many occasions – a duel is none of them.”

Malfoy adjusted his cloths and flattened the hair on his head, glaring at anyone who dared to look into his direction. He didn’t seem happy about his victory at all. Then he caught sight of Harry and smiled a smile that promised he would move heaven and earth go get his revenge for this.

 _Uh-oh_ , Harry thought. _I’ll need to watch my back in the future. So much for my resolution to concentrate on relevant things..._  

And then they were sent back to their seats and class continued. Some more people duelled, and Rousseau pointed out their strengths and weaknesses. He switched from joyful and lenient to severe and strict in a heartbeat and by the end of the lesson most people were exhausted and confused. They all agreed that they had learned a lot, even if no one could actually say what they had learned.

The opinions about Rousseau himself varied. Some thought he was crazy but interesting, some thought him crazy and scary, and some just stuck with crazy. Hermione pointed out that he was kind of a mixture between Lockhart and Moody. Ron disagreed and claimed that it had to be what Lupin would be like if he was possessed by Snapes ghost. Harry agreed with neither of them and wondered, why Rousseau seemed so familiar. He was sure he’d never met the man before – the others had told him Rousseau had just recently moved from France to Britain. But something was off, Harry just couldn’t pinpoint it.

And then he had detention with Filch, spent the evening cleaning an old classroom of a Doxy-infestation, and decided to spend no more time wondering about matters not directly concerting him.

***

Tuesday meant Transfiguration and Charms in the morning and a free afternoon since Dumbledore would start his lessons only next week.

Transfiguration was hard as always and McGonagall too, made it clear that NEWT courses would be a lot more demanding and she expected them to work harder. Charms was much the same, but Flitwick didn’t quite manage to pull off the severe-teacher-stance. It was probably his squeaky voice that made it impossible for the students to take him seriously. They would work on much more challenging charms like complex Wizarding Space, Warding and Conjuring Charms as well as a get a little insight in the different forms of magic like Elemental Magic, Sound Magic and Planetary Magic. The different forms of magic would all have to be performed as non-verbal and wandless magic, much to the horror of the students.

Harry spent his afternoon in the Owlery where he bribed a miffed Hedwig with owl treats and looked over the lands of Hogwarts, enjoying the free time. The weather was great and, having time to just _be_ , he felt content for the first time since arriving back at school.

Before dinner, he and Ron went down to Hagrid’s hut (Hermione had Ancient Runes and Arithmancy), visiting their old friend. They watched as a class of first years petted and fed two young unicorns with bandaged horns; apparently the two brawlers had managed to injure each other. Hagrid was nursing them back to health and the two of them, being separated from their herd, had become close friends.

Ron joked with Harry that maybe the same would happen to him and Malfoy, which Harry thought wasn’t funny. He was worried about the blonde – and not just because he knew Malfoy would want to get back at him. He’d looked stressed and unhealthy every time Harry saw him and he wondered if his father being in prison was the only reason for that. But then he remembered that he intended to stay out of other people’s business and forced those thoughts from his mind.

They spent some time in Hagrid’s hut, talking about old times and listening to him how much he missed Grawp who had been sent further up into the highlands. Apparently, there were some wizards watching over a giant horde of Hippogriffs and they had taken the Giant into their care. Grawp was now able to walk around freely (as long as he stayed on their lands) and Hagrid visited his half-brother every weekend.

Since dinner was shortly after, they had a good reason to refuse Hagrid’s rock-cookies and said goodbye by the time the sky outside darkened.

Later that evening, they sat together with Hermione in the common room and, on her insistence, started in on their homework. Everything was going well (Harry realised to his astonishment that his edition of _Advanced Potion-Making_ – or rather the notes of someone who called himself the _Half-Blood Prince_ were really helpful for his essay about the Purifying Draught) until Lavender joined them, starting a discussion about Quidditch with Ron.

Hermione started snapping at the both of them until Lavender took flight, leaving a bemused Harry and Ron staring at Hermione. “Oh honestly, are you both blind? She fancies you, Ron. everyone knows that. She doesn’t want to talk about Quidditch – she only wants you as her boyfriend because your famous!”

“I’m famous?”, parroted Ron dumfounded.

“Of course you are! All of us who’ve been to the Ministry have been in the papers over the summer – didn’t you ever read the Prophet?!”

“I’m famous... Awesome!” Harry had to grin at Ron’s hopeful and dreamy expression. At least one of them enjoyed the idea of all the attention.

Hermione huffed out an annoyed breath, but Ron didn’t notice.

Harry had wondered since the ball in fourth year if the two of them would ever get together. Lately things had looked well – if the bickering was anything to go by – but now he wasn’t so sure anymore. Hermione seemed much more mature when it came to such matters; Ron was absolutely clueless. Harry couldn’t blame her for being annoyed with him.

Dipping his quill into his inkwell, he wanted to continue writing, but stopped his hand above the parchment. His thoughts circled around a question he’d managed to avoid again and again.

He knew he wasn’t really interested in girls. The awkward kiss with Cho had ended all hopes he’d had that he would be normal at least in that regard. It wasn’t that he had anything against other people being gay... he just couldn’t imagine what people would say about him. No one seemed to care about Charlie. And there were also quite a few people at Hogwarts preferring their own gender and no one said anything. Or maybe they did, and Harry just didn’t hear about it because he didn’t care to listen?

And could he even be sure? It wasn’t like he’d ever fancied a boy. Honestly, with his thoughts and dreams focused on Voldemort and his anxiety about the future, he’d never really had time to fantasize about any stuff like that. Stuff. Argh. What made him so scared to even mention the word relationship or – merlin forbid – _love_?

It’s not like he didn’t love his friends or Sirius or his dead parents – but that was just different. It didn’t actually make him vulnerable.

One reason was, that he was scared more people around him would die. But if he was honest with himself, he was even more afraid of letting people get close to him. And not just to Harry Potter, but the him he didn’t tell anyone about. It just seemed wrong on so many levels to share those things with anyone... Or was he just being a coward?

Then, there was also the image of uncle Vernon always popping into his mind whenever he heard or thought the word _gay._ And _that_ was definitely off-putting. And scary as well. He was aware, that the Dursley’s would never love him no matter how hard he tried. He’d given up on that way before coming to Hogwarts. But he just knew that if they ever heard about him being gay, they’d wouldn’t just think of him as freakish, but as _disgusting_. An abomination.

“Harry!”

“What?” He looked at Hermione who gestured to the parchment in his hands. Crap. It was full of ink blots. Without thinking, he tried to wipe them away, ending up smearing it all over his nearly finished essay.

He groaned. “Do you think Snape will kill me if I only use a cleaning-charm and don’t write the whole thing again?” He didn’t wait for an answer and already reached for a fresh sheet of parchment.

“About Snape; don’t you think it’s weird, he’s only teaching two classes?”, asked Ron. “There’s no way he’s brewing shampoo and skin-tinctures in his free time!”

Hermione swatted him with her book. “Don’t be daft, of course not! He’s one of the best Potions Masters in Britain – if he’s doing research and selling stuff, it will be about really complex Potions. Like inventing new antidotes or enhancing the wolfsbane potion.”

“Or it’s just an excuse because he’ll do more work for–“Harry looked around, but no one paid them any attention. “For the Old Crowd. With his job he’s bound to need more time, isn’t he?”

The two of them shared a look before Hermione agreed hesitantly, “Yeah, that too. And we’ve overheard Professor Dumbledore talk about needing something from Professor Slughorn. That’s why he’s back at Hogwarts. And also... did you hear anything about your lessons yet? You know, Remedial Potions?”

Harry nodded, not seeing the reason for them to behave so cautious. Had he really been so moody lately? “Yeah. They’ll start next week, both, the ones with him and those with Dumbledore. But I have no idea what the lessons with Dumbledore will be about.”

“Yeah, mate... so, don’t be angry, but...” Ron only continued after Hermione rammed her elbow into his ribs. “Are you going to really try this time? I mean, no offence, but Occlumency didn’t go so well and... you absolutely have to learn more.”

“And not just because of what happened at the Department of Mysteries”, Hermione hastened to continue. “Ron and I agreed, we too would spend some of our free time researching and learning more about Defence. We’re going to need it, and soon, if the news about You Know Who are anything to go by. So, we’ll–.”

“What news about Voldemort?”, Harry interrupted her, suddenly anxious.

She shook her head. “Nothing really happened. But he’s arming for war – there’s no advantage for him in waiting with an attack. The Giants and Werewolves would just get impatient and he’d lose control over them.”

He looked at both of them. Hermione was a young witch and not a girl anymore and Ron... well, he looked like he had when he’d played the life-size game of chess in first year.

Things were really getting serious. Sure, Harry had known that this would be the case for _him_ but seeing his friends like this; it was encouraging and frightening at the same time.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I know. I’ll really try this time.”

“I understand that you and Professor Snape don’t get along, but we all have to do things we don’t want to.” She glanced at him sympathetically before turning to the fire, worrying her lip. “I’m uncertain wherever I’ll manage all the Head Girl duties, along with training for the war, now that we have so much more to do for classes.”

“What are you going on about?” Ron sounded jealous. “I thought you wanted to be Head Girl? It being such an honour for getting the position already in sixth year and everything? You even got a whole room for yourself!”

“Don’t be stupid, Ron, I’m not doing this just to get a single-room!”, she huffed. “Professor Dumbledore asked me because I’m a Muggle-born and the Ministry already knows who I am after the incident before summer. I’ll have to represent the school before the Board of Governors. Which means I’ll have to show them that we’re not just little kids they can manipulate; but that we actually care what happens in the war, too. That they can’t just influence the younger generations by sending people like Umbridge. And that we – unlike people like Fudge – support Dumbledore.”

“Why didn’t he just take someone from seventh year?”, Harry asked, curious as to why Dumbledore wanted to recruit Hermione already. “I mean; if it’s important to make a point by choosing a Muggle-born, why does it have to be you?”

This had Hermione blushing. “He said that this is because of my grades. I’m the only Muggle-born at the moment who the Professors think can handle both, the school-work and the responsibilities of the Head Girl position at the same time.”

Ron grinned at her and put an arm around her shoulder. “Not bad, ‘Mione! Congratulations for being the smartest girl from not only our generation but also the seventh-years!”

“I already told you that I’m not doing it to gain recognition!” But she flushed even harder and didn’t push Ron’s arm away.

When that had Ron looking very satisfied with the world, Harry had to refrain from laughing and tried to concentrate copying down his essay.

***

sorry, but I didn’t manage to fit in another letter from A. The whole story is getting much longer than I anticipated – so there will probably be more than 17 chapters in the end. The pace will however pick up after the next two chapters.

The next chapter will be up either tomorrow or on Wednesday and will contain; 

  * The answer from A
  * Lessons with Snape and Dumbledore
  * Some more every-day stuff happening in-between



 

As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but I didn’t manage to fit in another letter from A. The whole story is getting much longer than I anticipated – so there will probably be more than 17 chapters in the end. The pace will however pick up after the next two chapters.
> 
> The next chapter will be up either tomorrow or on Wednesday and will contain; 
> 
> The answer from A  
> Lessons with Snape and Dumbledore  
> Some more every-day stuff happening in-between
> 
>  
> 
> As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)


	7. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- Lesson with Snape  
> \- Things happeing in-between  
> \- Sound Magic  
> \- Lesson with Dumbledore

Learning how to live, chapter 7 – Dark Magic

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. –

***

By the time it was Sunday evening, Harry was nervous about the upcoming lesson with Snape like he would be before an important exam. He’d even listened to Hermione and gone to the library in search of a book about Dark Magic – and actually read the boring thing even if he didn’t understand half of it.

His weekend had been great, he’d spent most of his time outside with his friends, enjoying the last of the warm weather.

But now it was evening and all that was left to do was going to sleep, then spend a day in Potions and Defence and then he would meet Snape. Almost a full day before the encounter and it still wasn’t nearly long enough.

Harry had made up his mind to apologize to Snape about the Pensive incident before they would start with the lesson. After his own humiliating summer, he’d finally understood how wrong it had been to invade the man’s privacy – or anyone’s for that matter. He’d even started to sort out the words he wanted to use so he wouldn’t stand there like a stuttering idiot.

Hopefully Snape wouldn’t shut him up as soon as he opened his mouth.

And then there was the other thing he did _not_ want to talk about with Snape. What if the Professor decided to question him about his magical outbursts? (Or whatever they were – he _still_ hadn’t been able no narrow down his list of possible reasons). He had no idea what to say if it came to that. Maybe Snape would even give him some advice if Harry told him about his problems on his own, instead of waiting for them to get dragged into the light... but it would come at a price, Harry was sure of that. And as long as he didn’t know what that price would be, it seemed like a too great risk to take. Snape may work for the Order, but he loathed Harry’s father – and probably Harry as well.

There was also the fact, that it would sound terribly selfish of Harry to ask for a favour or advice right after apologizing to the man. No. He’d better wait and see. Maybe there would even be someone else he could ask.

A silent _Pop_ startled Harry out of his musing and he stared into the huge, unblinking eyes of Kreacher. The elf again stood at the feet-end of his bed and Harry was glad he was sitting cross-legged on the other side. He hastily put up silencing charms on his curtains before greeting the elf.

“Hi Kreacher. Did you get an answer form– the mirror I mean?” He didn’t trust the elf enough to tell him about A yet.

“Kreacher has a letter for Master Harry.” The elf bowed low and handed him a scroll of parchment. “Kreacher has done like Master Harry asked and gone to the room every few hours. Answer has arrived just now.”

The elf was wringing his hands, and Harry only now realized how tired the creature looked. “Did you go back every few hours all the time? You didn’t– I mean, I’m sorry, Kreacher. It will be enough if you check once every day, you don’t have to go back _that_ often.”

“Kreacher will be doing what Master Harry wishes him to do.” He cleaned his nose with the dirty rag he was wearing. “Will Kreacher wait for an answer to the letter or will Mister Potter call for Kreacher when he needs Kreacher?”

“I will probably need some time to write a reply.” Then he remembered his previous thoughts. “But maybe you could help me with something else. You knew that there was something wrong with my magic, right? Can you tell me how? And what it is?”

The elf nodded and actually paused, gazing pensively at Harry, before answering. “Kreacher can sense magic. House-elves know many things about magic that wizards do not. Mr Harry’s magic is becoming too many. It wants out. And Master Harry not feeling well makes it black and angry.”

“I... wait. You mean I don’t use my magic enough, so it’s kind of... pent-up?” The elf nodded, and Harry tried to remember the exact phrasing of Kreachers words. “And what do you mean with me not feeling well turns it black and angry?”

“Master Harry’s magic is black and angry because Master Harry is not feeling well.”

“So; magic has like, a mind of its own?”

The elf shook his head and answered condescendingly, “Magic doesn’t think, doesn’t have a head. Magic wants to act and protect wizard.”

That was the first Harry ever heard about magic like _that._ Sure, there was accidental magic, but that was something all children did because they didn’t understand what they were doing. To learn new spells in any of the classes they used magic like something that was just there. Like the stamina needed to run or the concentration needed to play chess; some people had more than others, but you could build it up (at least to some degree) and it didn’t just _want_ things. He’d always thought accidental magic was a reflex of his subconsciousness, not his magic acting on its own.

“So my magic is _angry_?” The elf nodded again, like this was obvious. “What can I do to make it less angry, then?”

“Kreacher does not know. House-elf’s magic is different from wizards. We not need to control magic, magic controls House-elves.”

Ugh. That sounded scary.

“Thanks for your help, Kreacher. I will probably call you again later for the reply, alright?” The elf nodded just impatiently, so Harry hastily added. “You can go now.”

The elf vanished with another _Pop_ and Harry eagerly opened the reply from A. It was in the same fragile, anonymous script as the first, but way longer.

_Dear H._

_Are you sure, the Sorting Hat didn’t make a mistake when it put you into Gryffindor? Seems like you have some very slytherin tendencies..._

_You’re request to not write out your real name was very reasonable, and I’ll gladly comply – amongst other reasons because it gives me a further excuse not to tell you my own name. At least not yet. I can however tell you, you’d have to address me as Mr and not Mrs, and yes, I was in Slytherin in my time at Hogwarts._

_I am aware you’re taking a great risk by writing to someone who’s identity you don’t know. But you should realize, that the same is true for me; while I do know who you are, I can’t foresee what you’ll do with the information I give you. And should you tell someone about those letters... well, if one of us ends up in trouble, it would definitely be me and not the Boy Who Lived, right?_

_Another thing you mentioned was, how I knew from the beginning it was you on the other side of the portal. Since I suspect it would further your distrust if I didn’t tell you, I’ll try to be as honest as I can._

_The Fidelius spell I mentioned is just one of the reasons why you can’t see through. I’m aware your side is under one as well. Yet, while your house is under Fidelius, that particular room is not. I assume it is made of wizarding space? If so, you won’t have to worry about somebody getting through the mirror, it’s impossible for anyone not included in the Fidelius, since the wizarding space works **inside** the Fidelius (If you don’t believe me, ask Professor Flitwick about the laws of wizarding space) and it’s also impossible to apparate into wizarding space._

_The other reason is, that my side of the portal is different from yours. You could say, mine is the main entrance and yours the back-door. While I have some influence over the whole thing, you do not. The only thing you could do is destroy the frame, which would make the portal-bridge collapse. To do so, any sort of temperature spell or charm (cold or heat) should suffice; that would upset the balance of the whole thing enough. Please don’t ask me to explain this, because I really don’t understand it myself. A friend of mine told me it has something to do with a thing called “quantum physics” (I think?). Tell me if you ever figure it out._

_As to your answer to my first question: you mentioned, how you wouldn’t be able to tell me certain things without assurance that I wouldn’t share the knowledge with anyone. Well. I’d promise that I won’t, but – as you mentioned – there is no reason for you to trust my word. So let me try this another way. Suppose, you were to tell me something very delicate or private and I’d share the knowledge with someone else; what would happen?_

  * _If I’d share it with one of your enemies, they could gain knowledge of a weakness of you. I would however need some proof (Death Eaters or Voldemort don’t take kindly to liars), which I don’t have. A letter in anonymous handwriting is not nearly enough._
  * _If I’d share it with the Dumbledore, he simply wouldn’t believe me. You’re his Golden Boy and he’d never accept a description of you that varies from that._
  * _If I’d share it with the Ministry – well, there are probably a hundred people or so going there every day, calming to have seen or heard the most impossible things before breakfast. They’d probably just ignore me._
  * _If I’d share it with the media, you could deny everything. And yes, I understand that all the stuff they already wrote about you possibly wasn’t as hurtful as it would be to have your privacy exposed. But then again, are they not already able to guess some true things about you, anyway? And no one is interested in those; for a reason I don’t really comprehend, people prefer to read ludicrous tell-tales over the truth._
  * _Finally, and this should be your biggest concern, there is the possibility of me telling someone you know, or even one of your friends. I’m very much aware you’re not the person you pretend to be in front of everyone. I can’t think of an argument, why I would never do that, but you have my word that I won’t. Your friends are not my friends and I have no interest in getting acquainted with them. Honestly, they appear rather ignorant and boring – concerning this, I should probably warn you that, over time, I’ll try to make you see things the same way._



_And that has to be enough to answer all your indirect questions; after all, I don’t want to lose all my bargaining power. And you owe me an additional one and a half answers, I’d say._

_As for your questions:_

_No, I don’t know the true reason for why the Order of the Phoenix is not part of the Ministry. Your answer reflected most of my own thoughts. There is however one additional thing I wonder about: Voldemort has an ideology. What about Dumbledore? And don’t misunderstand me, I know that he’s not evil – at least not in the sense Voldemort is. But still; to what end does he use all his power?_

_I too, can only guess about these things. He has this idea of a world where all beings are equal, which is, in my opinion, rather naive. How could Wizards and Goblins and Hose-elves and Vampires and Trolls ever life under the same laws? They all have different needs and different images of a perfect world. Shouldn’t the aim be to give all species the biggest amount of liberties possible without them troubling each other? If so, it would be impossible for just one person to do that, and, in regard to equality, such a government would have to be made up of representatives of all the species. However, what do you think would happen if a Troll, a Wizard and a House-elf were fighting over who gets a certain piece of land? (I’d bet on the wizard if he’s allowed to use his wand – if not, on the Troll...)_

_The discussion about advantages and disadvantages of democracy is an old one. I think, people are not ready for it, at least not yet. Better one reasonable leader than a flock of sheep bickering and never coming to an agreement._

_Maybe it would be enough of a change to hold elections for a new Minister every two years and make it impossible for the same Minister to get re-elected more than once?_

_But enough about these what-ifs. You asked what I considered our common goals. I’ll just make a list, to keep things simple._

  * _Get rid of Voldemort_
  * _Reform the Ministry (I’m sure you agree Fudge is not an ideal Minister and the bureaucracy, as it is now, is complete idiocy)_
  * _Make sure Wizarding world is safe – or as safe as it can be_



_I also have some goals of which I’m not sure what you think about. One of them is figuring out what Dumbledore is up to, reduce his influence and stop him if necessary. Another one is to abolish Azkaban – in my opinion the prison is inhumane and barbaric. And then of course, hiding from the public and figuring out the meaning of life._

_Now, onto my questions – I get three and a half, if I remember correctly? For the “half-question” I’d like you to elaborate on what you said you couldn’t tell me without my assurance to keep quiet – that definitely got me curious. As for the other three:_

  * _Do you think a person can be truly evil – as in not just brutal or crazy; but utterly, entirely evil?_
  * _Have you ever heard the saying “Sometimes you don't realize your own strength until you come face to face with your greatest weakness”? What do you think your greatest weakness is? Because it surely isn’t Voldemort..._
  * _What did you do on your birthday?_



_Yours, A._

Harry didn’t get around to write a reply that evening.

Instead, he started a list in an empty journal where he wrote down all the questions A had asked him, all the scraps of information A had given him and as well as Harry’s own questions and answers. Then he started a second list with questions he wanted to ask and a third list with things he’d have to look up in the library or ask someone. The lists were depressingly long.

He added his notes on who A could be. After considering it for some time though, he crossed it out again. Instead he started a new list with people A was most certainly _not._ It grew rather long as well, but he was sure, this was the safer way to go about things.

After that, he put the journal in his bedside drawer and warded it with all the wards he knew.

He was pants at chess, but he’d make sure to keep the upper hand in whatever game A was playing.

***

On Monday evening, Harry stood before the door to Snape’s office ten minutes early and wiped his clammy hands on his robes.

Then he lifted his hand to the door.

He would knock.

Now.

He took a deep breath. There was nothing to be so nervous about. Nothing. _Nothing._

He wiped his hands again. Damn, he was so nervous, he felt like he needed to throw up.

Apologizing couldn’t be that difficult, could it? Snape wouldn’t kill him – probably? – and the worst thing he could do was not accept Harrys apology. Or give him detention or deduct points; but those things had happened already a hundred times over.

He lifted his hand, _again._

He _was_ going to knock. Right now.

But what if Snape demanded some sort of satisfaction? What if he wanted to see Harry’s worst memories in return? But he had already seen those, hadn’t he...? Maybe Harry would have to do something really embarrassing in front of the whole school...

No. That was ridiculous. He knew what he was afraid of and also knew that it shouldn’t matter to him. He _needed_ Snape to accept his apology. Because if he didn’t, Harry had not only failed in his attempt to be more mature _again_ , but it also meant that Snape didn’t care about Harry feeling sorry. And while that sounded small and insignificant, it was important to him. Not just because he did not want to be seen as his father, but because he knew that what his father had done to Snape had been wrong. And Harry had been just as wrong to invade the man’s privacy. He didn’t want to be that kind of person.

Of course, Snape wouldn’t be able to change that – it was Harry’s choice to be whoever he wanted to be. And yet, it still somehow seemed vital to him for the man to understand that Harry really, truly was sorry for what he’d done.

_Maybe because Sirius isn’t around to accept your apology for not learning Occlumency?_

No! Well, maybe that was part of it. But this was about Snape, the man who’d always only seen him as the son of his father. If he could get _him_ to realize that Harry was capable of change, everyone else would understand, too.

_But Snape doesn’t just hate you for being the son of your father. He hates you because you don’t concentrate in his lessons, get away with breaking the rules and don’t ever listen to a word he says. All you ever do is fight him. Why should he_ not _hate you?_

Argh. Fine. Whatever. But he was going to change. And this time he meant it. He would do whatever it took.

_Is it truly apologizing if you only do it because you need the other person to forgive you? Seems rather selfish..._

That was so not true! He wanted Snape to forgive him because he felt horrible about the whole thing! But even if he knew beforehand that Snape won’t accept it, he’d still offer his apology.

That managed to get back some of his confidence, at last. He lifted his hand for the third time and tried to work up the courage to actually knock.

Then, a voice right behind him drawled, “As amusing as it is to observe you standing here like an idiot Mr Potter, we won’t be able to begin the lesson if you block the door.”

Harry spun around and found himself nose to nose with Snape. Or rather nose to collar in this case, because the Professor was almost a head taller than Harry.

“Er, sure. Sorry, Sir.” Harry moved aside to let him pass and felt himself flush. What a perfect way to start the evening.

Snape unwarded the door and strode inside, not looking if Harry followed him or not. He draped his outer robes over his chair and sorted through some documents on the teacher’s desk.

Hesitantly, Harry followed him inside and closed the door behind himself. The creepy things in glasses were still cramped on the shelfs along the walls and the room was gloomy and off-putting. He took a few steps toward Snape but stopped five feet short of the desk. Experience had him keep aloof and no matter how much he tried to gain his courage, he couldn’t bring himself to get any closer.

Well, this would have to do then.

When Snape finally looked up at him, he was ready.

“Sir? I was wondering; can I–“ Harry cleared his throat. “May I say something before we begin?”

Snape smirked. “My, my, Potter. It seems you are capable of learning after all. Go ahead.”

Harry didn’t even really register Snape’s sarcasm but forged onward before his courage could leave him. “I want to apologize– I mean, I _do_ apologize. It wasn’t right of me to look into the Pensive last year.” Snape’s expression darkened, and Harry hurriedly continued, before he could get interrupted. “I didn’t realize at the time just _how_ offensive that action was and that it was an invasion of your privacy. But that doesn’t excuse it. And I do understand now. I _really_ am sorry. I just wanted you to know...”

_This_ part was a lot harder because Harry wasn’t sure if he was overstepping some line. He took a much-needed breath. “I did _not_ enjoy what I saw in there. You asked me back then, Sir, if I was enjoying myself – I was _not._ I didn’t know my father and Sirius were such jerks and I think it was horrible what they did – not that you would need sympathy, but that their behaviour was just awful – I mean; I don’t mean I think it’s alright because it’s been you, but that I wouldn’t think it was alright no matter who they treated like this–“

He realized he was rambling and closed his eyes, unable to look at Snape any longer. This was so much harder than he’d thought. “I just wanted you to offer my apology and... and if you think there is anything I should do to make this right, then I’ll do it, no matter what. Sir.”

Snape didn’t answer for a long time.

Long enough for Harry to grow even more nervous and then, when _still_ nothing happened, calm down again.

When he finally did answer, Harry felt like hours had passed.

“Even you should know better than to offer something like that, Mr Potter”, he drawled in a deceptively calm voice. “It seems like you still have learnt nothing. I shall use this in order to teach you a lesson, then. You will spend every Saturday and Sunday afternoon for the rest of term cleaning cauldrons and helping me prepare ingredients for classes... Or was this only idle talk, after all?”

Harry stared to his shoes, not wanting Snape to see how angry and shocked he was. How could he demand something like _this_? This would take up nearly all of his time! And he wouldn’t be able to spend time with his friends, play Quidditch or go to Hogsmeade for a whole _year_!

But then again, he _had_ offered to do whatever the man wanted. And honestly, it was far less dire than doing something terribly embarrassing in front of the whole school. There was even the little advantage, that he’d hardly be able to get _more_ detention and that Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to monopolize his free time.

And what if this was just another test to see if Harry was stupid enough to agree? Snape himself had said that he was foolish to even offer this in the first place. Harry _could_ refuse. Snape wouldn’t get away with a punishment like that if Harry went to McGonagall. Speaking of McGonagall; she’d be furious with him if he couldn’t play because he got detention. 

Snape probably only suggested this thinking Harry would refuse – so he could ridicule him some more and prove that Harry didn’t actually mean what he’d said.

But he _did_ mean it.

He remembered the question A had written. _“Sometimes you don't realize your own strength until you come face to face with your greatest weakness”? What do you think your greatest weakness is?_

This certainly wasn’t Harry’s greatest weakness; however, he still _did_ intend to change who he was. And he didn’t want to be someone who backed out on a promise. He’d learned not to take things for granted as a child. He didn’t _want_ his position as the Boy Who Lived to get him out of things. Dumbledore and McGonagall would probably try to change Snape’s mind, but Harry would never be able to stand for that.

So he had to agree. Just... maybe he should at least try to deal with Snape? Ask him, if only one afternoon would be enough? Or that Harry would do it, but on the condition that Snape wouldn’t compare him to his father ever again...

No. He could just imagine how the man would sneer at him. Harry had promised to do _whatever_ Snape asked of him. It could have been way worse. And he’d meant what he said, still meant it. If he was going to do this, he wouldn’t do it out of stubbornness but to prove to him that he understood the things he’d said.

“No Sir.” Harry straightened his back and looked into those black eyes. “I meant what I said. I’ll do it.”

Snape didn’t move and yet, Harry could have sworn he saw something in that perfect mask give away his triumph. He gulped.

“Very well Mr Potter... Now, I too have something to say to you, before we start with the lesson.” He steepled his fingers and regarded him with a contemplating look. “You will find spells among the notes in the edition of _Advanced Potion Making_ you received. You must not, under any circumstances, use those spells. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, dumfounded and more than a little curious.

Snape seemed to realize that, because his voice was harsh when he continued. “Some of those spells were created to maim or kill opponents. If I find out you broke your word, your punishment will be much worse than serving detention for a year – do I make myself clear?”

Worrying his lip, Harry nodded again and mumbled a meek, “Yes Sir.”

“Good. As for your performance in Potions: you will use the book and follow the notes in it. They will hopefully let you pass through the year without... embarrassing the Headmaster.”

Harry swallowed and clenched his fists but managed to keep his anger down. “May I ask, Sir; who did the book belong to?”

Again, there was amusement in those eyes even if the man didn’t move. “You may, but I won’t tell you a name. It belonged to a former student. The notes will help you achieve better results, should you be able to follow instructions for once.”

Then he got up and moved around the table. “Now, Mr Potter. I presume you are aware that there is another thing we need to discuss. No? I guess, I shouldn’t be surprised that you already forgot about the... incident in your first Potions class.”

Uh-oh. So he wouldn’t get away with it after all. “I’m sorry; I don’t know why I keep losing control like that. Kr– I mean, I read in a book that this could happen if the magic is pent-up? ... Sir.”

“Indeed. And what was the name of that book?”

“I don’t remember. It’s in the library.”

“You keep on surprising me today, Mr Potter. _You_ went to the library to look for a solution?”, he scoffed, now standing directly before Harry. “Are you sure you didn’t send Miss Granger?”

Harry had to force himself _not_ to move back. At least Snape didn’t seem angry. “No, Sir. I didn’t need to ask any of my friends. I _am_ able to take care of my own problems.” It wasn’t even a lie.

“Is that so. Then I suggest you do something so your magic does _not_ accumulate. You will want to try using it.” Snape stared at him some more, undoubtedly waiting for Harry to react in some way. When he didn’t, the Professor seemed to lose interest, turned away and grabbed two books of his desk. “Very well. For your first lesson, you’re to read those books. I expect a five-foot essay on the dissimilarities between Dark Magic and the Dark Arts as well as a three-foot essay on the various definitions on magic in general on Saturday.”

Groaning inwardly, he accepted the books and looked around the room, unsure of where to go. There was only one second desk, drowning under piles of newspapers, scrolls of parchment and small odds-and-ends. “Am I to work here, Sir?”

“No, Mr Potter. I take it you know how to read a book and write an essay? Good. Now get out.”

Harry didn’t have to be told twice and fled the office before Snape could change his mind.

***

Back in the common room, Harry didn’t get a chance to tell Hermione and Ron what had happened with Snape. After he said the password (Abstinence), the portrait door swung open and loud shouting greeted him. There was quite the commotion and the students circled around a hysteric Hermione, who was screeching at Ron and Lavender who were clinging to each other on one of the couches. Colin knelt beside his brother Dennis; the fourth-year had a huge gash on his forehead.

Harry tried to get thorough to them, but then Neville spotted him and informed him of what had happened.

Apparently, Lavender had snogged Ron while Hermione and he had been studying for the Transfiguration-quiz that was announced for tomorrow. Hermione – unable to admit she was jealous – blamed Lavender for distracting them from studying; accusing the other girl of being envious of her good grades and sabotaging her. Hermione had even gone so far as to threaten Lavender and drawing her wand on the girl.

At the same time, a first-year had opened the old closet in the corner of the room and a Boggart had fled out of it; it must have spotted Ron, because it turned into a giant spider. In the ensuing chaos, Lavender and Ron had tried to kill the spider, not realizing that it was a Boggart, thinking Hermione had conjured it somehow. Their spells however managed to injure Dennis instead.

Now Hemione accused Ron and Lavender of being ignorant and irresponsible, while the two of them blamed Hermione for starting everything by drawing her wand in the first place – in the meantime, some students tried to tell Hermione that _she_ had to go get McGonagall because she was Head Girl while some others thought that no one needed to inform their head of house, but Dennis should to go to the infirmary.

“I don’t think anyone even saw that I got rid of the Boggart”, Neville ended wistfully, and Harry grinned at him.

“Snape in our common room? That must have been a sight!”

Neville shook his head. “It didn’t look like Snape anymore. It was... “

“What?” Harry never knew Neville being so secretive.

“It was Luna. Only... dead. She looked like she was sleeping and yet– “He shook his head again and swayed on his feet.

 “Come one, Neville. I think you should sit down.” Harry grabbed his arm and led him over to one of the chairs.

Then there was a loud BANG. Hermione had stormed to her room, slamming the door behind her. Harry could see Colin leading Dennis to the portrait and Ron crying after them, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit _you_ Dennis, but really, you should blame Hermione!”

Lavender still clung to him and Harry had absolutely no desire to go over to his friend. He sat with Neville for some time until things calmed down and then made his way to the stairs.

“Harry!”

He turned around and saw Katie wave at him. “Yeah?”

“Try-outs are on Saturday three o’clock – would you mind helping me set up an obstacle course?”

Ugh. He’d hoped to avoid that confrontation for a few days. “I’m sorry, Katie, I really can’t... actually, I don’t think I’ll be able to play this year at all. I... kind of messed up. Snape gave me detention every weekend for the rest of the year.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“What? But it’s only September!”

“He can’t do that!”

“You won’t play seeker?!”

“What the bloody hell did you do mate?”

Harry flushed, uncomfortable with the compassionate looks. “Sorry, I can’t tell. Let’s just say it’s my own fault, really. It’s kind of... complicated.”

“Oh Harry, you poor thing!” Romilda Vane moved closer to him, looking like she wanted to hug him. He hastily moved backwards and nearly stumbled over a couch.

Katie glared daggers at him and then at Romilda and nearly everyone else in the common room. “I’m going to tell McGonagall. The greasy git is sabotaging our team again. I don’t care if you get detention for the rest of the year, but he can’t prevent you from playing!” Then she got up and rushed through the portrait hole before Harry could stop her.

Well, McGonagall would hear of it rather sooner than later anyway. Another confrontation he was _not_ looking forward to.

 “Seriously, guys – it _is_ my own fault. No need to get back at Snape – that would only make things worse for me”, he tried to explain. For some reason that made the girls look at him with even more sympathy while the guys seemed curious.

Seamus grinned at him. “Whatever you did, mate – I’d sure have loved to see Snape’s face when he caught you! If you’d managed to get him _that_ angry, his head must have nearly exploded!”

Harry shook his head, frustrated. He didn’t want rumours to go back to Snape that he’d either done some gryffindorish, heroic deed or that the Professor was some kind of monster. “It wasn’t funny at all. And like I said. I was stupid. He was right to give me detention.”

“Did he hit your head or something?”, Dean asked.

Ron on the other hand seemed to realize what Harry was talking about and nodded to him knowingly. Well, that was enough for Harry. He nodded back and went to the dormitory before people could ask any more stupid questions.

***

He didn’t have to wait long for McGonagall to confront him. The next morning, she held him back after Transfiguration, her lips thin and her eyes stern.

“Mr Potter, I believe I asked you not to get into any more trouble. Would you mind explaining to me; what in Merlin’s name did you _do_ that made Professor Snape deem it necessary to give you detention for a whole _year_?!” By the end she was hissing as if she was in her Animagus-form and leaning threateningly over her desk.

Harry refused to back down and locked eyes with her. “I offered Professor Snape an apology and to do whatever he wants me to in order to show him that I really mean it.”

She blinked. “And what made it necessary for you to apologize to him in the first place?”

“I’m not sure I can tell you, Professor... It was an offence against _him_ , so shouldn’t it be up to him do decide who knows about it?”

She blinked again and drew back. “So, you freely offered to resign the Quidditch team in order to serve detention?”

“Not really. But he said he wanted me to serve detention every Saturday and Sunday for the rest of term...” Then Harry had an idea. “Surly I shouldn’t go back on my word? That wouldn’t be very Gryffindor of me at all.”

That made her purse her lips angrily. “Well argued, Mr Potter. Even if I can’t comprehend what makes you want to sit out this punishment.” She hesitated and added, “Should you decide to play for the team after all, I’m sure I will be able to arrange something with Professor Snape.”

Harry clenched his fists. That was just _so_ typical. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Professor.”

“Very well, Mr Potter. Be it on your head.”

And that was that.

Harry hurried along to the charm’s classroom, late again. The lesson had already started when he entered and took a seat beside Ron in the front row. He had to ask his friend what they were supposed to do, because what he saw didn’t make much sense. They all had metal bowls in front of them and the students were staring at the things with full concentration. Harry couldn’t see anything happening at all.

“Sound Magic, mate. Flitwick said we have to push our magic into the bowls to make them sing. Silly, right? Watch Seamus; the way he’s staring, he looks like he needs to go to the loo...”

Just then, Seamus’ bowl filled with fire and burnt of his eyebrows. “Augh, What the f–“

“Well done, Mr Finnigan – however, such language is not necessary in my classroom”, the Professor squeaked. “Even if that wasn’t Sound Magic, I’m not surprised you’re very apt at Elemental Magic, especially fire. Now try to shape the natural form of your magic with your mind and _push_ it into the bowl, willing it to produce sound.”

Harry and Ron glanced at each other and burst into laughter.

But not long after, they too, were staring at their bowls, getting more and more frustrated. It _was_ ridiculous, Harry thought. If magic was that easy, they wouldn’t need a wand, right?

He plopped his head on his arms and decided to take a break. He was getting nowhere. So far, not one student had managed to produce any sound (aside from their own groaning and cursing).

What was a bowl supposed to sound like anyway? Probably like wind pipes or bells– or rather like a braking train? Or maybe it would be just one tone; the bowl oscillating with steady vibrations, the vibrations passing on the air, expanding through the room...

Harry shook his head and stared at the bowl again, willing it to _sing_ , imagining his magic transforming into a hypnotic sound that could sink into the air, the furniture, the people, submerging everything.

Much to his astonishment, it worked. His bowl started to sound in a low whine that grew steadily louder until it was a deep humming noise, going through mark and bone.

“Well done, Mr Potter, well done! Ten points to Gryffindor!” Flitwick was ecstatic. “Now try to change the tune into a higher note!”

Harry soon realized, that he had no control over what he was doing. The tune still grew louder, starting to make the tables and the windows rattle. His teeth clattered, and Ron was shouting at him, but he couldn’t understand a word.

His magic wasn’t angry, how Kreacher called it, but dancing around him joyfully, eager to use the chance to get away from him. More and more of it poured into the sound until everything was resonating so hard, Harry was sure his bones would jump out of his body.

Panicking, he reached for the bowl. There was a deafening roar, shards and scale of wood flowing through the air and the students ducked under their tables.

Harry stared at the mess before him. There was a crater in the floor where the table and the bowl had been. Ron was talking to him with flailing arms, and slowly his hearing came back to him. “Harry! _Harry!_ Damn it, mate, are you ok?!”

His ears were still ringing, and he felt dizzy when he nodded. “Yeah, ‘think so.” Thankfully Ron had thrown up a shield in the last moment, protecting them and most of their things from the explosion.

Looking around, he saw that no one was hurt. Merely everything made of glass had been shattered, as well as most of Flitwick’s things in front of the room. The teacher’s desk was needled with shards and splinters – fortunately the Professor had still stood beside Seamus’ desk.

He hurried over to them, simultaneously waving his wand, starting to clean up the mess. “Mr Weasley, Mr Potter, are you hurt?”

They both shook their heads.

“Good, good. Now that, ladies and gentlemen, is why one should _never_ directly interfere with this kind of raw magic.” He vanished the crater with a flick of his wand but seemed unable to restore their table. “I think that will be enough for today. As homework, write a three-foot essay about Sound Magic. And _don’t_ attempt to practice on your own. This should have shown you well enough what can happen.”

The students packed together their things and left the room unusually quiet, most of them shooting wary looks into Harrys direction.

“Why do these things _always_ happen to me? Seriously, why can’t things for once be normal?!” Harry shoved his books into his bag more roughly than necessary and heard a quill snap.

“Uh, I don’t know mate... but it _was_ rather impressive. At least you were able to do _something_. And you must be bloody powerful to emit this much power!”

***

That afternoon, Harry was glad to get away from his curious classmates, even if it was to go to his first lesson with Dumbledore.

The headmaster explained to him how he would prepare Harry for the fight against Voldemort. First, he would help him understand Tom Riddle and destroy the Horcruxes, and then he would start training Harry in advanced Defence.

He also finally spoke of the things Harry had already overheard at Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore offered him an apprenticeship that would start in Harry’s final year at Hogwarts and continue during his training as an Auror. Only it wasn’t really an offer but more of an explanation.

Harry was glad for that, since it meant he didn’t have to actually agree to anything. There would be time later on to figure out how to get out of this – or if maybe he wanted to take the headmaster up the offer after all.

They watched Dumbledore’s memories of the orphanage, Gaunt’s encounter with the young Tom Riddle, the memories of Honkey, the House-elf of Hepzibah Smith, and finally, Slughorn’s altered memory of his conversation with Tom.

Again, a question from A came to Harry’s mind: _Do you think a person can be truly evil?_ He speculated that maybe A was a seer. It would explain quite a bit.

Tom Riddle’s past alarmed him, especially since there were so many parallels to his own childhood. Sure, Harry had never killed anyone and never actively sought knowledge about the Dark Arts – but he, too, had grown up unloved, could speak to snakes and his magic was changing into something rather dark.

Dumbledore explained how Voldemort had marked him as his equal for a reason – and in the process had altered Harry; made sure Harry _was_ his equal.

He also asked Harry to get closer to Slughorn and get the Professor’s real memory. While Harry understood the necessity of that, he had a great distaste for the man and no idea how to get close to him. He promised Dumbledore to try his best, but insisted that he would need some time.

And last but not least, Dumbledore asked Harry to take him down to the Chamber of Secrets on Saturday. They would need the Basilisk fangs to destroy the two Horcruxes they had managed to obtain.

Harry was reluctant to show Dumbledore the Chamber. While he saw the reason in that, he realized, that the headmaster hadn’t yet heard about Harry’s spectacular punishment. “Uh, Sir? I can’t, not on Saturday – I have detention with Sn– Professor Snape.”

Dumbledore gazed at him over his spectacles. “Already? Did your first lesson with him not go well?”

“No, it’s not about that. Actually, I apologized about looking into his Pensive and offered to do whatever it took to make things right.” Dumbledore looked like he wanted to protest, so Harry added, “He gave me a choice – he didn’t say I _have to_ do it. He asked me to clean cauldrons and help him prepare ingredients and I agreed. I just told McGonagall and everyone else I have detention because that’s easier to explain.”

“ _Professor_ McGonagall, Harry.” Dumbledore pensively stroked his beard. “Well, well. I see why Severus would want some sort of satisfaction. Then we will just have to postpone our expedition until Sunday.”

“Er... Actually, he wants me to be there Sunday afternoon as well. And before you ask, Sir, every weekend this term.”

That finally managed to baffle the headmaster. “Every weekend? And you agreed to this? Interesting... I assume Professor McGonagall is unhappy you won’t play for the Quidditch team?”

“I imagine she is. She offered to talk to S– _Professor_ Snape.” Damn it, it was absurd how he still couldn’t manage to address his teachers properly. “I refused. It was my idea to offer to Professor Snape to do whatever he wants – so it’s also my responsibility to live up to that offer.”

Dumbledore popped a Lemon Drop into his mouth and chewed for a while, wearing a peaceful expression and humming to himself. Harry had absolutely no idea what the man could be thinking.

When it didn’t seem like he was going to say anything at all, Harry suggested, “We could just go on Sunday morning?”

“Absolutely, Harry”, agreed the headmaster. “I must say, I’m surprised by your action. It is certainly good to see you try to get along with Professor Snape at last.”

Harry saw no reason to correct him in his assumptions, so he got up instead. “Sir, if that is all...?”

“Yes, yes, of course. You must be hungry, and I shan’t keep you from dinner.” The headmaster waved him to the door. “And remember; no one must know about the Horcruxes. Not even Professor Snape.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one thing; there will now definitely more chapters. I'll have to look over the plot-outline again, but there will be approximately 22-25 chapters now.
> 
> As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)


	8. Dark Magic & The Chamber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry...  
> ... gets a lot of information on magical theory (wizarding space & Dark Magic/ Dark Arts)  
> ... learns some things about A  
> ... finds a mysterious letter to himself  
> ... has his second lesson with Snape & detention  
> ... goes down to the Chamber with Dumbledore

Learning how to live, chapter 8 – Dark Magic & The Chamber of Secrets

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. –

***

After his accident with Sound Magic, Harry had to wait for the Charms lesson on Thursday to ask the little Professor about wizarding space. Flitwick was delighted that, for once, Harry showed a personal interest in the subject outside of the course and explained him the fundamental laws of wizarding space.

Especially since todays lesson had gone way better than the one on Tuesday – Harry still was the only student who managed to make his bowl “sing”, and this time without losing control or blowing anything up. His magic seemed to have calmed down a lot, and was peacefully following his wishes, as if the excess had been used up in the other lesson.

“Well Mr Potter, complex wizarding space is, as the name says, complex. Its laws and rules are hard to understand even for those of us who are well acquainted with the influence multiple charms have on each other.”

Flitwick was standing behind the teacher’s desk, so Harry was only able to see his head. It was a strange feeling to tower over the Professor like this, and Harry tried his best to appear polite and respectful. “It’s actually a very specific question I have, Sir. I was wondering; is it possible to apparate into a building that’s extended with wizarding space?”

“Ah, I see – you’re not the first to ask this question. No, it’s not. Wizarding space is not actual room; it’s a charm. Apparition is only possible between places that follow the natural law of room. Meaning, you can apparate everywhere you want to, as long as it’s an actual place. Take Diagon Alley for example: the street is not wizarding space – because then it wouldn’t be possible to do a whole lot of things – but rather a place that has been... well, let’s say _summoned_ to London. Like this, the actual room exists, even if the laws of space are not upheld, and a relocation charm was added to make it possible to apparate there – otherwise you would have to apparate to the original location of the room and let yourself be taken in by the summoning charm.”

Harry didn’t understand much beyond that it wasn’t possible. He tried to look like Hermione in order to not displease the Professor. “All right. And what would happen if I were to... say, put a trunk that’s expended with wizarding space under Fidelius? Would then the trunk be under the spell or it’s insides?”

Flitwick was smiling. “Room and space are not the same, Mr Potter, I believe we covered this in second year. But no matter. Let me explain it like this; a charm is not an object or place. This means while it is usually connected _to_ a certain object or place, it’s not merged with it. To go with your example; you could put the Fidelius on either the trunk _or_ the wizarding space. Or, you could put the charm on both, but then two charms are needed. Do you understand? All right – however, in this particular example, it would suffice to put the Fidelius on the trunk because there is no possibility to get inside the trunk if you can’t find it. It’s not possible to apparate inside, no matter how huge it is, or to put, let’s say, a hand inside by accident, because the wizarding space is applied to an object under Fidelius. Do you follow me so far?”

This was definitely way too complex. Harry shook his head and Flitwick enquired, “Do you remember the laws of primary and secondary connections of Charms to the material world?”

“Er... no, sorry. Not really”, he answered sheepishly.  

Flitwick took a sheet of parchment and drew with black ink a square with an A on the inside, then added another square around and charmed it red. To the side, he wrote the letter B. Harry wondered if it were too strange to tell the Professor that the letters were the wrong side around. “See here. If B can’t find or get in contact with the red square – how would it be possible to obtain A?”

“Not at all, I assume? Probably not even by summoning it or anything...”

“Exactly. Now we’re talking just about a simple Fidelius that’s covering the material aspect of the trunk. Assuming, B would call for A; A would be able to hear this since A is connected to both, the inside of a box that’s under Fidelius as well as the material world. If A would call for B, the same applies.”

“If the inside is made of wizarding space however...” He drew a third square with blue ink into the black box. “A is firstly connected to the wizarding-space-charm – the blue box – and secondary to the Fidelius. Because the trunk – the black box – is primarily connected to the Fidelius. So, if A were to call for B, B would still be able to hear it, because A is in on the Fidelius and the sound can travel through that spell to the real world. But the other way around it won’t work. B’s call wouldn’t be able to connect to the Fidelius _or_ the wizarding space – because he wouldn’t find the anchor of the wizarding space.”

Harry’s head was reeling, and he gave up on pretending to be smart in any way. “So,... it would be able for B to hear A – but not the other way around? ... But then the Fidelius is quite useless, right? And does that mean B would be able to get to A – if there was another way but apparition? Because the wizarding space isn’t actually under Fidelius, right?”

“A simple Fidelius that’s just covering material aspects would not prevent sound from travelling through – but sight or summoning charms or anything else. Besides, B would have to stand right beside the Fidelius; and if he isn’t able to see it, how would he ever find it? It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Flitwick looked pensive. “About getting inside: I’m not sure what means we are talking about, because Floo wouldn’t work; you would have to have the name of the location, and the location of the wizarding space can’t be spoken because it’s anchored to a room under Fidelius – unless you’re in on the Fidelius, of course. But even just theoretically it would be impossible. The wizarding space isn’t actually under Fidelius but connected to it _primarily_. It would be necessary to know the anchor of the wizarding space; but since it is under Fidelius, you’d have to find a way around _that_ charm first...”

“So, it’s possible, but only in theory? And, if there was no wizarding space, then it wouldn’t be possible to get inside at all?”

“Exactly!” Flitwick smiled proudly up to him. “I see you understand Mr Potter. But, as much as I enjoy this discussion, shouldn’t you actually be on your way to the next lesson?”

Harry glanced at the clock in the corner behind the teacher’s desk. “Uh-oh, yes I better run – Professor McGonagall won’t be happy with me if I’m late.”

He hastily took his leave and sprinted to the Transfiguration classroom, barely making it in time.

***

Not until Friday afternoon, when he had a free period, did Harry find time to contemplate the things he’d learned from Flitwick. He sat down and drew the schema the Professor had shown him. As soon as he realized, that there was a huge catch in the explanation, he sprinted to Hermione’s single-room which connected to the common room and pounded on the door.

She only opened after long minutes, looking surprised. “Harry? What–“

“What do you know about the Fidelius? The one that’s on...” He couldn’t spell the name Grimmauld Place, which was good, because there were quite a few students staring at them and listening curiously. “The place where the Old crowd meets. Do you know if it includes sound? And sight?”

Being taken by surprise, she needed a few seconds to answer him. “Yes, I think so? Well yes, of course it does – otherwise people would be able to hear what they are talking. And about sight; every Fidelius includes that as far as I know. There wouldn’t be much use for it otherwise, right?”

His heart was in his mouth. He swirled around and ran up the stairs, taking three steps at the time. “Thanks!”, he called over his shoulder before storming into his own dormitory. There, he jumped on his bed and dragged the curtains closed, nearly tearing them down in his haste.

A had lied to him. There was no way he could have thrown that vase at Harry’s head if he hadn’t seen him – which proved, he was included in the Fidelius. And this in turn meant, it had to be someone of the Order, right?

With trembling fingers, he started out a reply.

_Mr A._

_Thank you for the information about the mirror – I did actually ask Professor Flitwick and he confirmed your words. While you didn’t explicably deny it, you forgot to mention that this means you are included in the Fidelius at my place._

_Are you of the Old Crowd? Or is there some other reason why you can see through the mirror?_

Harry didn’t want to believe that he had been fooled like this. If it truly was someone from the Order, he wouldn’t be able to forgive them. And if not... well, then he had to do something about the security leak. He really hoped, there was another explanation.

Unsure of when it had started, he realized, that he’d hoped A could be – well, not a friend – but something like that. Someone Harry could tell things he didn’t tell anyone else.

Was it worth it to take a leap of faith? He could just ask A to swear he didn’t mean any harm and wouldn’t talk to anyone... but how was he supposed to trust A’s words?

_While the reasons you listed for my assurance do sound reasonable, this leads me to distrust you a great deal. I need to know how you became included in the Fidelius – and whether you’re someone I know personally. How can I be sure you’re not one of D.’s people?_

_I won’t answer any more of your questions until I have some proof that I can trust you._

_H._

Well, that was disappointing. Harry called for Kreacher and gave him the message, then flopped down on this back.

How could he have been so stupid? Why did he always manage to attract trouble like this?

The shadows in the canopy started swirling, looking like an agitated water surface. It didn’t manage to truly alarm him.

He felt empty again, hollowed out.

***

By the time the others went down for dinner, Harry was still lying on his back, his mind caught somewhere between asleep and awake, and he told Ron that he wasn’t hungry.

He turned on his side and traced patterns on the blankets with his fingers.

It shouldn’t matter.

It was just one person. And he hadn’t even written anything truly personal. Yet. So, why did it feel like the floor had been pulled from under his feet?

Deciding that this day couldn’t bring anything good anymore and that he had earned himself some sort of break, he got up and rummaged through his bedside drawer. He knew there was half a vial of dreamless sleep left; he’d gotten it last year from Pomfrey when his nightmares had become really bad, but he never drank all of it. Potions didn’t expire, right? And if they did, so what – he’d get ill or something. Still better than feeling this emptiness.

A folded piece of parchment fluttered out of the drawer and he picked it up. Something was written on the front in big black letters. It was his own handwriting.  

_The key is on the pink elephant. 3 items stored – don’t open unless necessary._

What the hell?

Harry couldn’t remember writing this. And why pink elephant? Wasn’t that a Muggle-saying? Like; if someone tells you “ _don’t picture a pink elephant!”_ you automatically do exactly that?

Curious and more than just a bit confused he turned the parchment in his hands.

_3 items stored – don’t open unless necessary._

He was sure it was his own handwriting. So why couldn’t he remember a thing about it? And should he even open it if he’d written this warning at some point?

 _unless necessary_... what was that even supposed to mean? Necessary for _what_?

***

In the end, Harry didn’t open the folded piece of parchment. Enough strange things had already happened this week; he decided to postpone this until the next. Then he’d try to ascertain that it wasn’t some sort of prank or deception to set him up. But for now, he needed some semblance of normalcy – as far as that was possible.

On Saturday morning, he was moody and distracted; not a good condition to be in for one when about to meet with Snape.

He was also waiting anxiously for a reply from A, hoping to get some explanation that would put him at ease. But Kreacher hadn’t returned last night and it was already time for the lesson with Snape. After that, he would have a short by lunch-break, followed by detention, again with Snape.

And after _that_ , a long evening of trying to avoid the Quidditch team awaited him. He’d also need to get some homework done, and get at least some sleep, no matter how restless, because on Sunday he’d go down to the Chamber with Dumbledore, and after that he’d have _another_ long afternoon with Snape. Since when were weekends so stressful?

Harry was in fact looking forward to Monday, which probably made him the first student to do so for _years_.

He said goodbye to the other Gryffindors and reluctantly made his way down to the dungeons. The door to Snape’s office was open when he arrived. Snape looked like he too, would prefer to spend his weekend differently, and told Harry to stop shuffling around and follow him.

They went deeper into the dungeons, at least two stories under the Slytherin common room and entered a gloomy corridor. The only portrait was an empty landscape and Harry wondered, if its occupant had fled this desolate part of the castle to seek some company.

Snape whispered a password to a section of stone and a heavy wooden door appeared. It led to another room entirely surrounded by heavy stone. There were no windows and no tapestries, not even torches on the walls. The only light came from the stone itself, an eerie green glow that reminded Harry of the Chamber of Secrets.

All the furniture must have been removed at some point – or maybe it had never held any. A rusty cauldron lay in one corner and the corpse of a Doxy in another. Snape banished both and then used a cleaning charm on the whole room which removed most of the dust.

After inspecting the room for some time (and Harry couldn’t figure out _what_ exactly the Professor was inspecting because there was nothing there at all) Snape turned around studied Harry as if he was a barely adequate potions ingredient. 

“Did you read the books?”

“Yes Sir.” Harry rummaged through his bag, took out the two essays Snape had made him write. It had taken him quite some time, but the subject had actually been interesting. He handed both scrolls to the Professor, who took them with long spidery fingers and promptly banished them. Harry hoped he’d banished them only to his office and not just made them disappear completely. It would be rather frustrating if he’d only made him write those, so Harry would actually read the books.

“What a surprise, Mr Potter. Does this mean you are literate, after all? ... Now, tell me the definition of magic you understood best.”

Harry tried to picture one of the many pages and diagrams he’d studied. “Adalbert Waffling said that–“

“Don’t, Potter.” Snape looked impatient now. “I want to hear your own wording – teaching one know-it-all is tedious enough.”

Pushing down the impulse to defend Hermione, Harry started again. “Well... all beings capable of magic have a magical core. This core has not only different sizes but can also vary in shape. Which means the raw magic there has a base form, like say... fire magic. Seam– I mean Mr Finnigan has an affinity for Elemental Magic, especially fire magic. So, in his core, the magic is in a shape close to the one that would be needed to do fire magic. Which means, whenever he wants to do something else, he has to change the shape of his magic first.”

Harry was surprised Snape hadn’t interrupted his rambling for so long and stopped, uncertain.

“Indeed, Mr Finnigan is quite prone to... blowing up things. However, that doesn’t mean he has an affinity for Elemental Magic – rather the opposite, actually. Do you understand why?”

“So, fire magic is not Elemental Magic?”

“Yes and no. Elemental Magic covers all elements, including fire. Let me use small words so even a dunderhead like you can understand”, Snape drawled and crossed his arms over his chest. “Take a person who always talks loudly, like Mr Weasley – does that make him a good singer?”

Harry shook his head and bit his tongue. Why did Snape always have to try and provoke him by insulting him, or his friends, or his parents, or _anyone_ at all really? Couldn’t he just speak like a normal person?

“Exactly. Being loud proves he has a voice, but it doesn’t give him control over it. Mr Finnigan’s tendencies mean he has little control over his magic, not the other way around.”

That confused Harry quite a bit. But he didn’t want to give Snape more reason to insult him, so he stopped himself from asking and closed his mouth shut. The Professor stared him, seemingly content to wait, and very aware that he didn’t understand things. 

When he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, he blurted, “So, how can he have raw magic that’s shaped like... well, fire-magic-like or whatever, if fire magic doesn’t actually exist?”

Snape sighed. “Fire magic is a form of magic used to control fire. Elemental Magic is the name of the branch of magic which uses and controls the elements. Do I need to use small words again, Potter? Let’s see... A birch is a tree. But not every tree looks like a birch. Being a tree however, it has similarities to a beech or the Whomping Willow – but only in some aspects. Understood?”

Harry nodded. While Snape was still treating him like a complete idiot, he was actually explaining things for once. That had to count for something.

“Then tell me, why would an outburst of accidental magic from Mr Finnigan not always take the form of fire?”

 _That_ he could answer. “Because only the magic in the core is shaped like this. As soon as it leaves the core, it has the possibility to change shape. It’s possible to influence the form of magic by a spell, or intent and will, or even emotions. In most cases, the form of magic is easily, uh... _formable_? And for that reason, the wand as a tool is the best way to make it actually do what you want. But there are also other cases, like the Centaurs; their magic is similar to Planetary Magic, which is very inflexible – so it’s hard for them to do anything else than Planetary Magic.”

Snape was watching him with half closed eyes. “And what exactly is a magical core?”

“No one really knows?” He’d found no explanation to this in the books. Snape didn’t show any reaction to his enquiry, so he continued. “The most common example is that of a ball of energy inside of us... or all magical beings. But they don’t really know _where_ it is, or how it gets there – or how it produces magic... For those who can use magic, there are no real boundaries around it. For Squibs, there is a mantle around the energy, making it impossible to access for the most part. Some magic leaks out however, so they can still do some stuff or see magical beings for example. And for magical creatures who can’t do magic, it’s the same. The energy is connected to their biology, in some cases more than others, which makes them magical.”

“How are Dark Magic and the Dark Arts different?”

Ha! Snape didn’t find anything to criticise about his explanation – that was definitely a first. Harry nearly grinned with glee. “Dark Magic is a form of magic. Dark Arts is the collective term for most curses and hexes which aim to hurt or kill, and all forbidden spells and potions.”

“And the definitions?”

“Well... Dark Magic is magic that influences light and shadow. And the Dark Arts is a category made up by the Ministry as opposed to Light Magic; Light Magic are all legal spells and potions, Dark Arts everything else. But that doesn’t mean it’s dark as in Dark Magic – just the terms that are similar. Dark Arts don’t have a common magic form at all.”

“How are light and shadows used in Dark Magic?”

“Shadows are mostly used to attack and light to defend... but both could also be used the other way around. It’s just that shadows are triggered by dark emotions or intentions, while light uses happy emotions or pure intentions.”

“It seems, for once, you did do the reading you were supposed to.”

Then, the Professor drew his wand and Harry involuntarily took a step back. Snape smirked. “Now, Mr Potter, Professor Dumbledore has asked me to teach you the basics of Dark Magic. Do you know why?”

Harry shook his head.

“Because the Dark Lord is very apt at it. Most of the spells he uses are based on Dark Magic – using shadows and not light of course.” He cast several spells on the walls and the door. Harry guessed they were wards to prevent eavesdropping and strengthened the barriers of the room. “I’m going to try and teach you how it works and how you can defend yourself against it. Considering your latest outbursts, it should be at least _possible_ for you. One can only hope that you will also show more... concentration and aptitude than you did at Occlumency.”

“The books didn’t actually say how to do Dark Magic.” If Snape was going to just shout at him again to _do_ something Harry didn’t understand how to do, things were bound to end in a disaster. Again. 

Snape tucked his wand back into his sleeve and focused on him again. “Tell me, Mr Potter, what are the situations you lose control over your magic?”

“I get angry.” Harry stared defiantly at Snape, who seemed to wait for him to elaborate. There was no way he was going to tell him about the panic attacks.

“Is anger the only emotion working as a trigger?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me, Potter. I can always continue our Occlumency lessons if I deem it necessary...”

“Fine!”, Harry spat. “Not just anger, but also other things, like–“ But he couldn’t spell it out. It was... too personal; it would make him vulnerable. He couldn’t say it. Not to anyone and _especially_ not to Snape. “Like, like... _negative_ emotions.”

The Professor observed him again for long minutes, making Harry squirm. “As you wish, Potter. Then remember your anger and try to summon the shadows.”

 _That shouldn’t be hard,_ Harry thought _._ He didn’t even need to remember any of the things that made him angry. The magic was swirling right under his skin, restless and prickling. Concentrating, he could feel it wanting to get out, to destroy something, to rip apart and annihilate, taint everything around him, and drench it in darkness...

It was great to at last, _finally_ , let go of his control. Harry felt something slip away from his mind, but didn’t pay it any attention.

The shadows in the corner of the room started to creep towards him, hesitant at first, growing more solid by the second. Harry willed his magic towards them, creating a steady flow of energy. They grew until they twisted into amorphous little creatures, always changing, always swirling.

My old friends... so beautiful, so deadly...

His scar started to hurt, but that was all right. The pain was far away, and he felt exhilarated and powerful, like the world was his for the taking. He smiled, and imagined how the shadows would surround him, hiding him from prying eyes and ripping apart everything that came close.

The black clad figure opposite him whipped his wand through the air and a circle of bright light surrounded his feet, pushing the shadows back.

Rage made Harry’s blood prickle. _How dare he use such a cursed thing, burning the edges of my magic, my will! Show him what happens to those who dare to stand against me!_

The black figures hissed, bearing teeth and claws at the blazing light, circling around the man inside.

The man seemed to be talking to him.

_What an impudent fool... Shall I rip out his tongue first?_

Something was dripping into his eyes and he blinked the nuisance away. His arms were spread to the sides, his fingers cramping from the strain of sending more magic out. But it wasn’t important.

The black clad figure used another spell, still talking and trying to get his attention.

_How can he not realize how far beneath me he is? His magic light weak and wavering, soon it will drown in my shadows._

Smiling, Harry gave more of himself to them, feeding his little pets. They gladly took his magic and his emotions, growing even more solid until paws and wings were visible. He willed them to tear the light apart and maul the man behind them–

***

“Potter. _Potter_!”

Harry opened his eyes. And shut them again, because the light hurt his eyes and he had a horrible headache. What the hell?

“Get up, Potter!”

That was Snape’s voice. Why was Snape shouting at him?

“I know you’re awake. Now get a grip and get up!”

He opened his eyes again and gowned. “Head hurts.”

“Yes, I imagine it does.” Snape sneered down at him. “Cease your pathetic yammering and sit up.”

Doing as he was told, he realized that he actually _was_ able to sit up. The world spun for a moment, but then his head cleared a little. He looked around and started remembering what had happened. “Oh... Crap. Did I... did I hurt you?”

“Eloquent as always. Tell me, Potter, whatever gave you the idea you were powerful enough to hurt me?” Snape smirked. “But then again, just a few minutes ago, you _were_ laughing megalomaniacally and speaking to yourself.”

“ _What_?!”

“Dark Magic can have a certain effect on people, making them feel... superior and lightheaded. In your case, the outcome was a bit extreme to say the least.” Snapes lips were actually twitching. Were it anyone else, Harry would have thought they were suppressing amusement – but this was Snape, so that was impossible.

Harry needed a moment to realize that the words had actually been kind, especially going by Snape’s usual vitriol.

So, his megalomaniac attack wasn’t only him losing his mind, but usual for someone using Dark Magic. The only thing he clearly remembered was feeling angry and then the rush of the magic. _That_ had certainly been exhilarating.

Harry swept his hand over his forehead and it came away bloodied.

“You’re scar started bleeding as soon as... you lost control.” Snape made his way towards the door and started taking down the wards. “I have to research a few things. You will stay here and clean up.”

Looking around, Harry saw marks on the floor and walls. They weren’t actual marks, more like memories of the shadowy figures. He could feel rather than see them, but that made it even worse; they reminded him of foul-smelling, black sludge. “Ugh. Did I do that?”

“Yes. And since it is impossible to purify this with a simple spell, you will be cleaning the room by hand. It should take you the rest of the morning.” At Harry’s blank look, the Professor murmured something under his breath and then added, “The Purifying Potion, Potter. What did you ever think it was for?”

“Well... people? Like purifying the soul and so on?”

Snape just gave him a _look_ and Harry felt extremely stupid. Of course, areas had to be cleansed of residual magic as well. He’d only never considered how that was done and why it was so difficult. Well, now he knew. If it had to be done by hand, it explained why larger areas were hardly ever purified; it would take ages.

“You’ll find a vial of it in the classroom on the shelf next to the supply cupboard. Go retrieve it and all supplies you need – as soon as you’re up to walking again.” The last bit was added with a disdainful look. “You’re not to touch the residual magic with your hands. Use your dragonhide gloves. I expect you to finish this until lunch – if not, you will continue after dinner in your free time. Understood?”

“Yes Sir...” Harry said meekly. The whole room was full of the weird stuff – as if he’d ever manage to clean this up by lunch!

***

As expected, Harry didn’t manage to finish until noon. So he wouldn’t have to go back in the evening – he wasn’t even sure if he’d have managed to find the room again; after he’d closed the door, it had vanished – he spent an hour longer. This left him late for the meal in the great hall, but thankfully Ron had saved him a sandwich.

Most Gryffindors were observing him with varying degrees of pity, other seemed still angry that he wouldn’t play on the Quidditch team. Katie was glaring daggers at the head table, at both McGonagall and Snape. Harry tried again to explain to her how it was his own fault, but no one seemed to care about that. 

He wolfed down his food, and then already had to run off again, so he wouldn’t be late for his detention.

Snape took him along to the potions classroom where they spent the afternoon preparing things for the lessons next week. Or rather; Harry cleaned cauldrons and tables, sliced, minced and diced various fresh ingredients and then cleaned up the utensils afterwards.

Meanwhile, Snape was brewing potions for the hospital wing and grading essays. It was the first time Harry realized, that being a Professor was actually a lot of work. While it explained at least partly why Snape got so angry if someone mucked up a potion, Harry still thought the man got out of his way to intimidate and upset the students. Snape criticized absolutely everything Harry did, and made him start over again and again.

It took a lot of nerves from Harry to not snap at the Professor. He only managed to bite his tongue by reminding himself how it was his own choice that he was there.

After what seemed like ages, Harry was finally free to go. He hurried up to the tower and took a shower. No matter how much he scrubbed, the slimy things under his fingernails didn’t want to vanish.

At dinner, he was ready to drop dead on his feet. He only listened with half an ear when Ron told him who had been chosen for the Quidditch team and escaped as soon as Katie made her way over to him. He _so_ did not have the energy for this right now.

Back in the dorm, he flumped on his bed and promptly fell asleep without doing any homework.

***

When Harry woke up again, it was still dark, and it took him a moment to realize what had woken him. Kreacher was standing over his legs and holding out a sealed scroll.

That managed to motivate him enough to sit up. He took it with clammy fingers and said goodbye to Kreacher. Alone again, he opened it.

_Dear H._

_Ah... well, I had hoped you wouldn’t figure that out so soon. But I compliment you on your caution to follow through on my advice and question Professor Flitwick._

_I can assure you, I’m not part of the Order – and yes, I know who they are. As you may have realized by now, I’m no supporter of Dumbledore. (Sorry for the vase, by the way. That wasn’t me, but one of my house-elves; I told her to send things back through the portal if you were to try it out again. Being aware of my antipathy towards Dumbledore, she did what she thought appropriate, and only told me about it when I got home.)_

_As for me proving you that I’m someone on your side... Watch Dumbledore’s behaviour on Monday morning when the newspapers arrive. I’ll do something which will hopefully reassure you – you’ll realize that the Order wasn’t part of things, if you watch Dumbledore’s reaction._

_I can however not tell you how I got included in the Fidelius – yet. You have my word, that I will tell you everything about it, as soon as I’m convinced you’re not under Dumbledore’s influence any longer. I also swear to you, that I mean no harm towards the people in the building. You don’t need to fear for your friends. I have been included since the day the spell was cast – it was rather an accident actually – and there would have been many opportunities._

_Yours, A._

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of this. Maybe because he was still half asleep.

What the hell did A have planned? He only hoped it wasn’t something stupid. Or dangerous. Maybe he should tell someone? But then again; he didn’t know what A had planned, so it wouldn’t be possible to stop him anyway.

At least he had something specific to look forward to. Whatever the newspapers would tell on Monday, A seemed sure it would change his opinion.

***

Sunday morning, Harry got up before everyone else and sneaked out of the tower. He and Dumbledore had agreed to meet in Myrtles toilet before breakfast, so the chance of anyone following them would be minimized. Nevertheless, the headmaster cast a few spells to be certain, that they were alone.

Harry commanded the sink to open and the two of them slid down the tubes. The tunnels were as sinister and spooky as Harry remembered them and he was glad he wasn’t alone. While he didn’t have many nightmares about this particular adventure, he remembered all too clearly how afraid he’d been; the endless dread of seeing those deadly eyes, being scared to look at every sound and movement...

The damaged part of the ceiling had loosened further, and they had to clear a path to get to the chamber. This, and all the dust on the floor, proved that no one had been down here since the incident in second year.

Then they got to the huge chamber and Dumbledore had to cast an air-refreshing charm to get rid of the smell. The decaying stench of the corpse was horrible. While bones and teeth of the Basilisk were still intact, loose shreds of flesh were visible underneath the ripped, dried up skin. Swarms of insects circled around it, crawling in and out of the cadaver.

Harry nearly puked and needed a moment to get his things together. Dumbledore politely didn’t comment and gave him some time, turning away from him and proceeding toward the corpse.

They retrieved the fangs from the jaw of the beast, which had to be done by hand. Most magic didn’t have any effect on it because of the innate shielding magic of the Basilisk, and they didn’t want to use a wrong spell and accidentally blow it apart. Doing things by hand took a lot of time and was dangerous, they had to be careful not get into contact with any of the poison.

They collected a bag full of the larger fangs, and Dumbledore vanished it into one of his expanded robe pockets. He then pulled out the golden box, which Harry knew held the locket, and a second, black box, which held the Gaunt ring. He put them both carefully onto the floor and took a step back.

Harry eyed them warily. Since he knew what they were, he thought he could actually see the strands of evil leaking out of them. They looked similar to his own black magic, which didn’t sit well with him.

“Now, Harry. I suggest each of us destroys one of the Horcruxes while the other upholds protective wards, so we won’t be caught up in any repercussions.” The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes was absent and he looked much more like the wizard who had fought Voldemort in the Ministry.

Harry nodded and gripped his wand. “Sir? It’s just, I don’t know any really powerful wards – wouldn’t it be simpler for me to destroy both and you take care of the wards?”

“Let’s see how the first one goes, shall we?” The Headmaster levitated the locket out of the box and put it on the stone. It moved minimally and rattled against the floor, clicking and wheezing as if it sensed the danger it was in. Dumbledore brandished his wand in an arc and drew a circle around the locket, mumbling in an old language Harry didn’t think was Latin. “That’s it. Now I suggest you move fast. And remember, Harry; the Horcrux will try to stop you with any means – even if it can’t actually do you physical harm, it will undoubtedly try to make you believe so.”

He grimaced and stared at the locket. How in Merlin’s name had he managed to wear something so evil for more than a week around his neck? Cautiously, he accepted the Basilisk-fang Dumbledore held out to him and moved closer to the little trinket. “Will I have to open it first?”

Dumbledore thought for a moment and then nodded. “I assume that will be necessary.”

Harry glanced at one of the snake statues and hissed, “ _Open_!”

Black smoke poured out twisting and turning until finally taking the shape of a faceless man. “Harry Potter... I see your heart and it is mine. Saviour of the Wizarding World, Chosen One... lying to your friends and your allies, being betrayed by those you trust...”

Harry stiffened and without realizing, let his hand with the Basilisk fang sink to his side again. Thankfully the locket was speaking in Parseltongue, so Dumbledore didn’t understand it.

“Always afraid, always alone – you’re scared of anyone seeing who you really are. Will they still love you if they know your heart as I do? All this dark power inside of you, all this anger and fear... No, they will abandon you, cast you out, maybe even lock you away... because you are a danger to them... let me help you. I can protect you from their narrow-minded views... together, we can rule over them, make them see...”

“No! I’m nothing like you!”, Harry hissed back angrily.

“Will you let them treat you like your relatives did? Spending your life locked away as a freak, as an abomination–”

His initial shock vanished, and he rushed forwards, stabbing the thing with the fang as hard as he could. The black smoke turned into a giant head, screeching and trying to swallow him. He tumbled back out of the protective wards and thankfully they held. Slowly, the thing lost its power and grew transparent, until it vanished entirely.  

“Well done, my boy. Are you all right?” The headmaster held out a hand to him and helped him stand.

“Yeah, I think so... That thing is _really_ nasty.” Very Evil Locket, indeed. He’d have to show Kreacher it had finally been destroyed. “Could I... would it be alright, if I take the locket? As a reminder?”

Dumbledore contemplated him over his glasses. “As you wish. But remember; you mustn’t show it to any of your friends. And be careful of the residual Dark Magic in it.”

Harry nodded, then carefully picked up the thing and put it into one of his pockets. “So, shall we do the other one?”

“Only if you’re not too exhausted, my dear boy.”

He shook his head. “Better get this over with.”

Dumbledore levitated the ring with the black stone onto the floor and started casting again. “Be sure not to touch any part of the ring. There is a very nasty curse on it, poisoning anything coming into contact with it.”

This time, Harry made sure to have the fang ready before kneeling into the protective barrier. The ring, too, tried to whisper to him, but there was no black smoke.

Trying his best to blend out the whispers, Harry concentrated on the ring and brought the fang down. A wave of greenish steam exploded outwards. Harry felt himself being harshly dragged backwards by a hand on his shoulder and fell on his back.

Dumbledore stood over him, casting and casting, until finally, the green smoke inside barrier calmed down and drew back into the ring. “A vicious curse, this one…”, he mumbled, casting more spells to make sure it was harmless now. “Tom always had a flair for dramatics… Are you alright, my boy?”

After Harry’s nod, the headmaster picked up the ring and held it close to his eyes. “Ah. Truly beautiful, wouldn’t you think?”

“Uh, not really?” It was clunky and too big for any human finger.

The headmaster smiled without looking away from the ring. Unsettled, Harry wondered if maybe he’d gotten possessed by some remaining part of the Horcrux. “It should match excellently with this new hat I bought; lemon green with orange stars.”

 _Probably not, then._ No part of Voldemort would have him make such a comment.

The headmaster nodded to himself and put the ring into another one of his countless pockets. “That was rather more simple than I expected – don’t you agree, Harry? Let’s return to warmer parts of the castle then. I’m sure you don’t want to miss lunch and I’m a bit peckish myself.”

***

As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)


	9. Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Harry stared at his plate and wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust."

Learning how to live, chapter 9 – Shadows

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. –

***

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur. Harry helped Snape prepare more ingredient for the lessons (all disgusting and slimy and he was _sure_ , Snape choose those on purpose), did some catching up on his homework and then it was already time to sleep. The next morning, he was on pins and needles, not sure what to expect after A’s announcement.

He went down to the great hall with Hermione and Ron, who tried to get out of him why he was so nervous. “I’m not! Honestly guys, I’m just exhausted from the weekend – and I’m definitely not happy about spending the morning in the dungeons again.”

“Whinging again, Potter?” Malfoy walked past him with a haughty expression on his face. “I heard you won’t play for Gryffindor this year – scared I’d beat you?”

“Pff, as if!”, Harry snorted. “When did you ever beat me in a fair game?”

“What are you – five? Of course it wouldn’t be a fair game; I’m not a Gryffindor, after all.” Malfoy smiled a sweet smile and turned to Ron. “I heard you’ll be keeper again. This will certainly make things easy for us.”

“At least, _he_ did get his place on the team by passing the try-outs.” Hermione stepped in front of Ron, before the boy could open his mouth. “I heard the others say, _you_ didn’t even show up and just bribed your way in again.”

Malfoy’s smile grew wider. “Grow up, Granger. I didn’t play because I had another appointment. Some people realize that good grades and school sports are not all that matters – the right connections will get you much further in life.”

“Ha!”, scoffed Ron. “I bet you’re not on such good terms with the Minister anymore, now that your father is in prison!”

An ugly expression hushed over Malfoy’s face, before he lifted his nose in the air. “With a family like yours, of course you wouldn’t understand. The Malfoys have a respectable name and are well connected in the wizarding world. Why would I–“

“Is there a problem?” Professor Rousseau walked towards them, and Harry felt that the piercing stare lingered for a second longer on him than the others. “Shouldn’t you all get inside the great hall before you miss breakfast?”

“Sir.” Malfoy greeted the Professor with a slight bow. “I hope you and my mother had an enjoyable evening after I had to take my leave?”

Ron gagged, and Harry hastily dragged him back at his arm. There was no need to get themselves into trouble.

“I did.” Rousseau nodded back at Malfoy. “But that won’t stop me from putting you and your – rivals you called them? – in detention if you fight in the corridors. The same rules apply to everyone here.”

“What?”, blurted Ron out. “But he started it! And you said you wouldn’t give detention or deduct points!”

Again, Harry could have sworn, the Professor glanced at him for a split-second, as if observing Harry’s reaction. He clamped his hand harder around Ron’s arm but didn’t say anything. This whole discussion was pointless, and Harry wished they could just move on to the great hall. He didn’t want to miss the arrival of the mail or Dumbledore’s reaction to it. 

“In class, Mr Weasley; I said I wouldn’t do those things in class. But outside, you’re still students and I’m a member of the staff here. Fighting in the corridors is prohibited and will be punished.”

Harry cleared his throat when Ron started arguing back and spook over him. “We were only arguing, Sir, not actually fighting. And we were just about to go inside the hall to eat.”

This, Rousseau seemed to find funny for some reason. “I didn’t ever say that you were, Mr Potter, merely warned you what would happen if you did. Now, off you go.”

He shooed them through the doors and they made their way to their respective tables. Malfoy made a threatening gesture into Harry’s direction, but he didn’t pay it any attention. Instead he looked around and saw to his relief, that the owls hadn’t arrived yet.

They sat down at the Gryffindor table and Harry watched Ron shovel food onto his plate. It was absurd how much the boy ate. For himself, he took an apple only so he had something to do with his hands. He turned towards the head table and pretended to be listening in on Hermione and Ginny’s conversation.

Dumbledore was merrily spooning pudding into his mouth, nodding here and there at McGonagall’s monologue. To his right, Sprout was laughing with Sinistra, Hagrid was occupied with a huge piece of meat which made Harry’s stomach turn, and Trelawney was drinking out of a flask, hiccupping and mumbling to herself. She’d never recovered from the events of last year. Flitwick must have already left, and Firenze was hardly ever present at any meals.

Next to McGonagall sat Filch with Miss Norris in his arms. Professor Rousseau was happily eating and chatting away at Snape, either unaware of how unwelcome his attempt at socializing was or – how Harry began to suspect – enjoying the effect it had on the other Professor. Snape was holding on to a steaming cup, clenching his teeth and trying very hard to ignore Rousseau. Going by the twitching of his eyes, it wouldn’t take much longer for him to explode.

Harry bit his tongue so he wouldn’t laugh and hastily ducked his head when Snape’s eyes moved into his direction.

Flinging a bit of toast at Harry, Dean got his attention. “It’s a miracle he’s still alive, right?”

“What? Rousseau?”

“Yeah. Why’d you reckon Snape didn’t kill him yet?”

“Because it’s illegal, you dork. Snape’s a mean git but not actually a killer.” Ginny grinned at Harry. “Otherwise Harry would be long dead by now, right?”

A loud fluttering noise announced the arrival of the owls and Harry glanced upward at the imitation of a clear blue sky. The countless birds manoeuvred around each other, trying to get to their respective recipients.

Trying to stay subtle, Harry moved so he was half covered by Hermione’s bushy hair and observed the head table. Sprout was the first one to get a Prophet and promptly let the spoon fall out of her hands. Snape was next and choked on his drink, which made Rousseau clap him on his back. Most astoundingly, Snape actually ignored that entirely and just stared at the frontpage like the world had gone mad.

All around the great hall, excited whispering and exclamations started up, and the headmaster was looking around, confused as to what was going on. Then he finally got his own paper and took one glance at the frontpage. His mouth fell open. McGonagall leaned over to him and cried something when she saw the Prophet. From the movement of her mouth, Harry guessed it must have been something like “Merlin’s beard!”. And then Dumbledore smiled, got up and left the hall through the back door.

He had definitely been surprised. And not just him.

Harry turned his attention away from the head table and tried to get a good look at Hermione’s Prophet. She too, muttered something about Merlin’s various body parts, before she flattened out the paper for everyone to see.

A balefully glaring Bellatrix sat, tied to a wheelchair and wearing a hospital gown, in the fourth floor at St. Mungo’s. Aurors and healers were discussing in the background, while Lockhart twirled happily around the woman and decorated her with daisies and candy wrappers. The headline changed rapidly, seeming just as excited as all its readers.

Confused Bellatrix turns herself in at St. Mungo’s!

Bellatrix obliviated – thinks she’s seventeen again!

Murderess or victim? What will happen to Bellatrix?

Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or smash something. _Merlin’s beard!_ , was the only fitting thought he was capable off. A strangled sound made him look across the table. Neville had seen the picture and paled rapidly. He held on to the end of the edge of the table with both hands as if he would fall over otherwise.

“Nev... I...” Harry gulped, unsure of what he could possibly say to this. “I’m sure your parents are in some other place for now.”

Neville ignored him. He didn’t move a muscle, oblivious to everything around him, and was breathing way too fast. Then suddenly, he sprang to his feet and rushed out of the hall.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Seamus was laughing at Neville’s strange behaviour. “Did someone give him the evil eye or what?”

Harry knew the other boy wasn’t aware of what had happened to Neville’s parents, but he still shot him an angry look. “Mind your own business, will you?!”

He nudged Hermione, told her he’d go down to potions by himself and went after Neville. The boy was leaning against the wall in the entrance hall and crying. Harry knew it wasn’t his business and he shouldn’t stick his nose where it didn’t belong, but he could at least try and help in some other way. After some coaxing, he managed to drag Neville along and they went outside, wandering around aimlessly until they came to a halt at the shore of the lake.

Harry felt guilty. He knew it wasn’t his fault, but he also had known beforehand that A was up to something. And, what made it even worse, he was glad for what had happened to Bellatrix. If it were his choice, she’d have gotten even worse. She’d killed Sirius. She was insane and cruel, and if there was anyone truly _evil_ , she was.

Knowing she was gone, or at least no longer a danger, he was relieved. Overjoyed. Even if it was awful that she was in the same place as Neville’s parents – it was the perfect punishment for her. And who knew, maybe she could even change.

Neville threw stones into the lake for a long time until finally, he started talking without turning around. “I wish she was dead. You know... Maybe I’m a horrible person. But I really wish, whoever did this, would have killed her... It’s just not _fair_.”

The sobbing made it obvious that he was crying again. Harry wished he was the kind of person who could easily comfort someone else. But he wasn’t. He didn’t even know how to give someone a hug. Situations like these just made him feel awkward. He realized, he’d never even said anything about the whole thing to his friend. “I’m sorry, Neville.”

And he was, even if he was sorry for a whole lot of things Neville would never know about.

Neville shook his head. “Don’t. I really don’t deserve it. You know... sometimes... sometimes I even wish they had died, instead of... My parents, I mean.” He was now crying so hard, his whole body was shaking. “I know it’s awful to think like that. And I love them, I _really_ do... but it seems so much easier for you – and that’s horrible to think because you’re sad too and I _know_ that, but I just wish–ah, I don’t know! Damn it!”

“It’s fine...” Harry stared at his shoes and blinked, wishing his eyes wouldn’t burn, because this wasn’t about him, this was about his friend. And he could only imagine how it would feel to see his parents or Sirius all... empty. Maybe it truly was a fate worse than death – but then again, wouldn’t he give anything to see his parents at least once? No matter what condition they were in? Grief seemed to be a horribly selfish thing. “I understand. Me too, I wished for a lot of things... still do sometimes... it still hurts. So, I get it, I think. And it’s fine. I don’t blame you for thinking like this... I wish I had the strength to... to just stop _longing_ for something I’ll never have, you know?”

Neville made a strangled sound and threw another stone into the lake.

***

He was an hour late for potions. Snape deducted fifty points, and threatened to throw him out of class, but Harry didn’t care. He nearly wished Snape would do it just so he’d have some time for himself.

Still, the lesson passed quickly. Probably because Harry was so withdrawn. He was glad he could concentrate on his work, so he didn’t have to pay Hermione and Ron any attention. They both knew about Neville and would feel sorry for him, but they wouldn’t _truly_ get it.

Just like Harry couldn’t talk to them about his own parents, because... well, he never even tried. But he was sure it would only be awkward.

After Potions, he fled to the tower without eating lunch. He didn’t feel hungry at all, even if he knew he should eat.

He went to the dorm, enclosed himself behind the curtains of his bed, and started writing a reply to A.

_Dear A._

_This morning’s Prophet certainly had an interesting frontpage. I won’t ask how exactly you managed to pull that off, even if I’m very curious. Dumbledore’s reaction – along with that of all the Professors –proved, that they had no idea. You should have seen them; it was actually quite funny._

_So, I consider this proof that you’re not in the Order – but it doesn’t put my concerns at rest as to why you are in on the Fidelius. For now, I’ll assume you to want me to trust you, and wouldn’t do something to ruin that. I’ll also research ways to go around a Fidelius or – as you claim it happened – get “accidentally” included in it._

_You gave me your word to tell me the truth as soon as I’m no longer under Dumbledore’s influence. In turn, I give you my word, that if you do betray me after all, you will regret it. I’m not as averse to revenge as most people think._

Harry knew he was bluffing. Still, it was better than nothing. And who knew, maybe in a few years he would actually be capable of such a thing. Maybe he’d work at the Ministry, or know people who knew people – and if he did become an auror, he’d certainly have the resources. But for now, he was only a student and utterly clueless about the world.

_About Bellatrix; I have something to ask of you. I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Bellatrix was one of the Death Eaters who tortured Alice and Frank Longbottom into insanity. They both are permanent patients at St. Mungo’s ward for Spell Damage – the same ward Bellatrix is being held according to the picture of the Prophet. Is there a way to make certain that she won’t stay there? I don’t think it were a good idea to send her to Azkaban neither; maybe this could be like a second chance for her. But not there, that’s just too cruel to the Longbottoms. Do you have any ideas? Or can you do something?_

Harry was aware that he sounded like the spoiled brat Snape always accused him of being. But he needed A to be able to do something or have an idea of what could be done. After all, he’d most probably been the one to obliviate her in the first place.

He also wondered, if A had chosen Bellatrix because of Sirius. But that was something he couldn’t ask; both answers would be frightening. So instead, he reread A’s old letter and started commenting A’s reflections and answering the questions.

_I too, do wonder about Dumbledore’s goals. At least I’m sure of the thing that’s at the centre of his mind at the moment: destroying Voldemort – and for that he is willing to go to any lengths necessary. In this at least, I support him._

Again, he stopped and wondered, if he should tell A that he had destroyed the locket. But then, he decided against it. He could always tell him later on, if he knew for certain, A was trustworthy.

_Which brings me to the goals you claim we have in common:_

  * _Defeating Voldemort: I obviously agree on that since he’s made it his goal to go after me._
  * _Reforming the Ministry: While I think this is necessary, I don’t see this as my task. Besides, I don’t think I know nearly enough about politics to do any good regarding this matter._
  * _Safety of the wizarding world: This too, is not my duty. While I’m probably willing to give a lot for this – I am, after all, a Gryffindor at heart – I wouldn’t do whatever necessary. And, which may surprise you, I don’t like to stand in the limelight. I’d much rather live a quiet life away from everyone’s attention and expectations._
  * _Reducing Dumbledore’s influence: I already answered that above I think._
  * _Abolish Azkaban: I’m all for it, but again; I don’t see how I could actually achieve that._
  * _Hiding from the public: Definitely – but I do wonder; how do you want to do this while reforming the Ministry etc.? (And no, that’s not an actual question. I won’t give you more answers if you elaborate on this)_
  * _Finding an answer to the meaning of life: I don’t think I truly need to comment on that..._



_And now to answer your “half question” about the things I didn’t write before: they are actually related to your original question. You asked why I told no one about the mirror and I explained that I didn’t want anyone to know about the room, that I needed to spend some time alone. This also relates to your other question about how I spent my birthday._

Harry wondered how much he should tell A. It wasn’t delicate information like things about the Order or politics or something; but it was terrifyingly personal. Then again, what A had done – wherever it had been for him or not – made him feel like he owned him something. And it was just a letter; it wasn’t actual whinging, right?

_As you may know, I spend some time during the summer with my Muggle relatives. To make it short: we don’t really get along. We try to keep out of each other’s way and I spend most of the time alone in my room (like my birthday). Maybe you can understand that this doesn’t improve my mood – so when I’m back in the wizarding world, I usually need some time to adjust._

Harry realized that this wasn’t entirely the truth, but then again, A couldn’t know that. And it was close enough. There was no way he would tell A about his panic attacks; that would give him way too much power.

_This summer has been worse since I was also trying to deal with my godfathers’ death. I assume you’ve heard about that. There are certain circumstances surrounding it, I’m afraid I really can’t elaborate on. But it resulted in me deciding not to trust in things people tell me that easily anymore – not that I was ever stupid enough to rely blindly on adults. Not because they lied to me, but because their ideas of what’s good for me are... difficult._

_And no, that won’t make me abandon my friends. You said you’d try to change my opinion about them: well that’s the difference between you and them. They are my friends, you are a potential ally. I can trust them to want what is good for me (even if I don’t agree with them sometimes) and can forgive them their mistakes. I have no idea what you’re end-goal is. Sure, we agree on some things, but that only makes me trust you so far._

_You asked if I believe in “true evil”. I don’t. Even Voldemort has reasons why he became who he is. Dementors try to suck out our souls because it’s the way they feed. The same goes for Trolls and Giants: they aren’t evil, they just have a very violent nature. Werewolves only attack people on full-moon; and only because the curse makes them lose control. Actions can be evil, or intentions, thoughts, things, etc. – But not beings._

_“Sometimes you don't realize your own strength until you come face to face with your greatest weakness.” – maybe this is one of my weaknesses: I trust in the good of people. That doesn’t mean I actually trust them, but I don’t always suspect the worst of them either. I guess that sooner or later, this will turn into something that someone will use against me._

_However, you asked for my greatest weakness. I have to admit, I thought about this all week long and I still don’t know for certain. There are many things I’m afraid of, but that’s not the same. I’m not sure if this counts as an answer, but I think it’s my inability to really trust people. This may seem like a contradiction to what I wrote above, but I don’t know a better word._

_Let me try to explain: I trust my friends with my life, I try to listen to adults and I know I have to ask for help in some things. But all of this is only one kind of trust. I don’t trust my friends enough to tell them how I really think and feel about certain things. I don’t trust adults to support what I want, so I always question their advice – I don’t trust them to take me seriously at all. And I might ask for help in some things, but I’m convinced that in the end, I’ll have to do things alone. Does this make sense?_

_I realize this sounds rather childish – but you asked for my weakness and I believe a weakness is never rational._

_On to my questions to you – do I get two or three? (I’ll just ask three, if you consider this unfair, you can ask me one more as well.)_

  * _Why did you give me the books you gave me? (How To Manage Household-Pests – A Beginners Guide To Successful Cleaning and Special Characteristics Of The Most Common Magical Beasts)_
  * _When, where and how did you spend your last birthday?_
  * _What is your greatest weakness?_



_Yours, H._

Harry sealed the scroll with some wax and didn’t use a stamp. Then he called for Kreacher, gave the letter to the elf and showed him the destroyed locket. Kreacher was overjoyed and thanked Harry over and over for getting rid of the Very Evil Locket.

When Kreacher asked if he could keep the locket, it made Harry suspicious, but only a little. Since it wasn’t clothing, why would it matter? Harry only didn’t give him the thing because he wanted to purify the remaining Dark Magic first.

Only later on did he realize, that it Kreacher showed it to the wrong person, word would get to Voldemort that another Horcrux had been destroyed.

***

On Tuesday evening, when Harry had his next lesson with Snape, he went to the Professor’s office early. He was quite sure that he would get lost if he tried to look for the stone room by himself.

The door was closed, but two loud voices could easily be heard through the wood.

“You won’t fool me, _Leo,_ I know exactly who you are – so tell me, what’s your real reason for coming to Hogwarts?”

“Ah, Severus, you always have been a distrustful one – maybe because you’ve got too many dark secrets yourself? What makes you think I’m here for anything else than the job?”

There was some noise which Harry couldn’t identify, and he wondered what he should do. Maybe the Professors were attacking each other? But then again; whom should he help if that were to happen? Snape would kill him for interrupting, but he would also kill him for eavesdropping. And the conversation did sound rather interesting...

“I guess that means no then. Well, let’s just say I’m–“

The door swung open, making Harry jump.

“Potter!”, Snape spat. “What are you doing here?”

He tried to look like he’d just arrived and failed miserably. “I’m here for the– Remedial Potions?”

Snape swirled around and glared at the other Professor. “Get lost, Leo – as you see I have to teach the headmaster’s Golden Boy.”

Rousseau was leaning against Snape’s desk, looking for all the world like he owned the office. His eyes moved from Snape to Harry and back again. “Be careful, Severus.”

_What the hell is he talking about?_

Harry wondered, if it was his duty tell Rousseau that _he_ should be careful if he didn’t want to get himself killed.

“ _What_ did you say?” Snape looked positively murderous. His hand moved slightly, so that it wasn’t hidden in the folds of his robe anymore. Harry saw that he was gripping his wand tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Cautiously, Harry took a step back. If the two started to duel, he didn’t want to get caught in the middle. Maybe he should go and get McGonagall?

“I said, _be_ _careful_.” Rousseau stressed the last two words, then stood up straight, dangling his own wand leisurely from the fingers of his left hand. “And I mean it.”

There was a fast movement and a flash of light. Harry reflexively let his bag fall to the floor, drawing his own wand. Only a second later, his brain processed what he had seen. Snape had been the one to attack, and Rousseau had deflected the hex easily, as if shooing away a fly.

Snape held his wand levelled on Rousseau’s face for a long moment. Then he lowered it and sneered, “Consider this a warning.”

“I see.” The grin twisting Rousseau’s lips was rather a snarl. “I must say, you disappoint me.”

“I said: Get. Out.” Snape sounded deadly and Rousseau finally caved in. He left the room and winked at Harry in passing, as if he hadn’t just been kicked out of the office but won a great victory.

“Good luck with Remedial Potions, Mr Potter.”

“Er... thanks?” Harry stared after the man, wondering what it was he’d just witnessed. When he turned around, black eyes stared at him.

“You will tell no one of this. Do you understand?”

This seemed like an excellent reason to inform McGonagall or Dumbledore. But then again, it wasn’t his business. And Snape was someone who could handle himself, Harry was sure about that. As for the Defence Professor... he seemed competent. But also like he had a death wish. Then again, no one who was not at least somewhat suicidal applied for the job.

Snape was able to inform whoever he wanted to by himself. And Harry had apologized about invading the man’s privacy only a week ago; it would be daft to do something like this again.

So, in the end, he nodded. “Yes Sir.”

He didn’t resolve to forget about the whole thing, but to tuck it away in the back of his mind.

***

By the end of the week, Harry started to realize just how exhausting this year would be. He’d hardly had a free minute between school, homework and his lessons with Dumbledore and Snape. Then, there was Neville, who was still upset, and Harry tried his best to be there for him. And Hermione and Ron, who were bickering again (he didn’t bother to ask why) and both trying to gain Harry’s alliance against the other.

During meals and in the common room, nearly all of Gryffindors were hounding him about playing Quidditch again – even Ginny who’d play as seeker instead of him. The way they ignored whatever Harry said hardened his resolve to play never again, even when his detentions with Snape would eventually come to an end.

On Wednesday, gossip about what Harry had done to get his enormous amount of detentions started to spread. The speculations varied between Harry hexing the Professor’s hair pink, planting a Niffler in his private quarters, and flooding the potions classroom. Lavender and Romilda started the particularly stupid rumour that Snape was secretly in love with Harry and used detention to keep him close. This at least put a stop to Dean’s and Seamus’s wild guesses and made them facepalm.

On Thursday, someone sent Snape an anonymous letter at lunch. The potions master got up, stalked over to McGonagall and shoved the letter at her. The woman read it, her lips thinning until they nearly disappeared. Then she got up as well and gestured for Harry to follow her to the antechamber behind the head table. Harry did so reluctantly, hoping that this wasn’t about the stupid love-rumour.

McGonagall sat him down in a chair and asked him a few very strange questions. Harry didn’t understand a thing, and left the room feeling puzzled. When he sat down again and wanted to continue breakfast, McGonagall stood up and got everyone’s attention. She declared the whole of Gryffindor as grounded until the sender of the letter had turned him- or herself in. And then she deducted a hundred points.

It took until evening for the culprits to come forward, and they turned out to be two fourth-year girls Harry had never spoken to before.

Friday morning, when Harry was eating breakfast, he heard whispers about the ominous letter; that it had accused Snape of molesting Harry. Some people were laughing at this, others were watching Harry with pitying eyes. Snape was absent.

Harry stared at his plate and wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust.

Then, McGonagall got up and made another announcement. She explained in a tight voice, that the school didn’t tolerate threats or libel, and that the two fourth-year girls had been sent home. They were suspended until further notice.

Harry glanced once at the head table, and saw Dumbledore shake his head like he was regretting the outcome of the situation.

When Romilda told Harry in a loud voice, that he didn’t need to feel ashamed, Harry’s hands started trembling. He felt how the shadows under the table got ready to attack.

“It’s not true”, he ground out through gritted teeth. “I told you, I deserved that detention, I told you! Didn’t you listen to a word I said?” He tried to keep control, of his voice, he _really_ did. Somehow, in the end, he was shouting anyway. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ALL OF YOU?!”

Hermione and Ron helped him make an escape from the great hall, shielding him from the attention of the other students. He couldn’t believe this was happening. Running away from all of this started to look sensible again. But then, Hermione dragged him down to potions, arguing that he couldn’t hide forever.

When they had to hand in their essays on Golpalott's Third Law, Harry didn’t dare look at Snape. Actually, he didn’t dare lift his head even once during the whole class. Thankfully, the professor didn’t pay him any attention neither – even when Harry nearly mucked up his potion not only once, but twice, and Hermione had to save him.

On Friday afternoon, Harry fled to the astronomy tower. Covered under his invisibility cloak, he sat there and wished he’d never have to go down again.

He wondered why the whole thing upset him so much. Ron and the other boys thought it funny. But Harry felt nauseous even thinking about it.

It was one thing to think of Snape as a greasy git. That was just... childish and petulant. Students testing boundaries, rebelling against authority. Nothing serious. Even if Harry knew all too well how words could hurt worse than blows, he was convinced that Snape didn’t care. The students were little pests to him; there was no reason for him to take their insults to heart.

But this rumour... what was it, that made it so horrible, really?

First of all, such a thing could not only have lost Snape his job, but the man could have been sent to Azkaban. It was tasteless and repulsive of the students to treat a such a severe topic in such a way. Accusations like these had to be taken seriously – it was an insult not only to Snape, but also to all the people something like this had really happened to.

Secondly, it wasn’t just a prank; if the newspapers got wind of this, the man’s reputation would be ruined. For the students to use this as a way to get back at him was worse than anything else Harry could think of.

Then, there was Harry’s apprehension that someone could have realized that he was– that he wasn’t interested in girls. Needless to say, this didn’t mean he was interested in Snape or that Snape was interested in him, let alone any idea of molesting. The whole idea was laughable.

Harry knew, that he was being ridiculous and paranoid, but he couldn’t help it. When would people start to question why he didn’t have a girlfriend? And how long would he be able to evade these questions until someone figured it out?

And finally, Harry was afraid of losing every chance of ever gaining the Professor’s respect.

And not even because the man was angry at him. Harry was pretty sure, that Snape would never blame him for this. No, instead, he’d just ignore Harry. He would keep his distance to guarantee that no one could ever accuse him of anything.

Harry understood that.

He wished he _could_ blame the man. Or at least that he didn’t care.

Being ignored was not the worst thing that could happen to him, Harry was aware of that. Even if he didn’t _like_ Snape, he respected the man. And he wanted his attention. He wanted to prove to him, that he wasn’t as stupid and useless as the man believed him to be.

Now, that would never be possible.

For this, Harry wouldn’t be able to apologize. Because Snape didn’t blame him. It would be easier if he did.

Furthermore, the other students were still not listening to what he was saying. They were either joking and teasing Harry or whispering as he walked past. He could only imagine how much worse it was for Snape.

That was one part of the whole incident Harry didn’t understand at all. How come, no one was interested what _he_ said about things? Why was it so important that he played Quidditch for Gryffindor? Why did everyone believe Harry was innocent and Snape was evil?

It was somehow the exact opposite of what had happened at the Dursleys. Dudley had bullied everyone close to Harry, so no one had gotten close to him. Petunia had told everyone what an insolent, violent boy he was, so they had seen him as a misfit. In the end, _Harry_ had been invisible to everyone; they had only seen what they wanted to see.

Now, it was the other way around. Everyone saw him as this magnificent do-gooder, The Boy Who Lived, and no one cared to listen to what _he_ said.

***

That night, Harry didn’t return to the tower until it was nearly curfew. He ignored everyone in the common room and went straight to bed.

He took out the mysterious note, and, sheltered behind the curtains, stared at it for a long time.

_don’t open unless necessary..._

He wondered what that meant. But no matter how he tried to twist it, he couldn’t trick himself into believing that this was such a situation.

The folded piece of parchment felt so very familiar, he was sure he’d written it himself. He almost remembered it, almost... like a snitch just out of reach.

_The key is on the pink elephant._

It was easy to imagine one. Only, the image that came to his mind didn’t resemble a normal imagination. It was more like a memory. Not like he’d actually ever seen a pink elephant before, but like he’d imagined one again and again, until the image became focused and familiar.

_3 items stored_

Items... he had no idea what those could be.

After a long time, he put the note back into his bedside drawer. He curled up under the blankets and allowed himself to feel miserable and small and weak. At least for a while.

***


	10. "Mind your own business"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds a name on the Marauder's map he can't identify – as usually, he sticks his nose where it doesn't belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is a bit shorter – I had some trouble with the dialogue.

Learning how to live, chapter 10 – Shadows

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. –

***

Harry was standing on the edge of a cliff.

The strong breeze coming from the sea tousled his hair and stole his breath. It smelled of storms and autumn. The waves breaking against the rocks were loud, an intimidating sound that made him shudder.

Looking down, he saw the white foam far away, a never-ending moving pattern against the dark waves.

It was night. Or was it day?

Yes, it was bright, and the sun shone down on him, dazzling but not warm. He tasted salt on his lips and spread his arms, imagining he could fly.

The cliff was so very high. He was scared of backing away from the edge, afraid the ground would crumble under his feet if he moved just a tiny bit.

Falling would be nice, for a short while. Like flying, at least until he hit the waves...

But he wouldn’t hit the water if he could fly, right?

Pain travelled up and down his spine, through his legs and every part of his skin. He wanted to groan, but a throaty croak came out of his mouth instead. When he looked down, he saw that his nose was missing, and he had a big yellow beak. But that was alright, really.

He spread his wings and let the wind ruffle his feathers. It felt wonderful.

Then he could see himself from further away, and watched as the seagull stalked over the cliff and took off, flapping the white wings once, twice against the high winds. Then it was floating, gliding through the air effortlessly and silent.

He wondered if he would be able to choose his Animagus form. It would be wonderful to be free like a bird.

And then he opened his eyes, blinking, and stared at the swirling black shadows at the top of his canopy.

He retrieved his wand from under his pillow and cast a spell to show the time. It shortly before seven in the morning. It would be stupid to go back to sleep, he’d just oversleep and be late for his lesson with Snape.

Right. Snape.

Harry groaned and wished he was still asleep. He so did not want to have to meet the other man. It would be awkward at best and horrible at worst.

But there was no helping it. He had a lesson with the man the whole morning, and detention in the afternoon. And he doubted, that the professor would release him from his punishment – then that cursed letter would get the intended effect. Maybe Snape would even give him more detention just to prove to the students that he wouldn’t be intimidated.

Harry got up and took a shower. By the time he was dressed, the other boys were still snoring softly, and he thought about going down to the common room. But then there were the chance that he would run into someone else. So instead, he rummaged through his trunk and took out the Marauder's map. Flumping back onto his bed, he started studying the piece of parchment. It had the same calming effect as always.

Albus Dumbledore was in his office, pacing.

Minerva McGonagall, Argus Filch and Miss Norris were standing closely to each other in a corridor on the first floor. He wondered, if McGonagall was in human form or having a cat-fight with the other feline.

Most of the students were still in their dorms, their dots and names building confusing gatherings he was unable to decipher. Since the private quarters of the professors were not sketched on the map, he couldn’t see if the teachers were still in their quarters as well. But he figured that was so, since the castle was mostly empty. There was only a handful of people in the great hall. Even if breakfast was served from half past seven until nine at weekends, most students and professors preferred to sleep in.

He let his gaze sweep over the empty rooms and corridors of the castle and remembered that he’d wanted to add the Chamber of Secrets at one point, but had forgotten about it. He had never asked Sirius or Remus if the map could be updated and if so, how that was possible.

Draco Malfoy was lurking around in a bathroom on third floor that no one ever used. Curious. What was he up to, now? He still hadn’t gotten back at Harry for the duel, and Harry started to wonder if the other boy’s threats were just an effort to keep up appearances. The feud between them wasn’t serious at all this year, more like something they both did out of habit.

Harry shrugged to himself and moved further along on the map. Peeves was circling around in Binns classroom. Sybill Trelawney was near the great hall, stopping every few steps. Even her dot made a drunken appearance. Rubeus Hagrid was walking toward the borders of the map, probably leaving to visit his brother. Pomana Sprout was in the greenhouses.

He unfolded the parchment further to see the lover levels of the castle. Two girls were together in one of the alcoves, their dot’s moving in synchrony, nearly on top of each other. He had to think for a minute, before he figured out what had probably led to _that_. Then he fought the blush rising to his cheeks, even if he knew no one was watching him.

Hastily, he moved on to the next two dots with names. Severus Snape and– what? Leo Minor? That had to be Leo Rousseau, right? So why the different name?

Then, he remembered the conversation he’d overheard. _“You won’t fool me, Leo, I know exactly who you are.”_

But who was he? Maybe he was a Death Eater and Snape knew him from spying? If so, why would Dumbledore hire someone like that? But then again, Dumbledore had also hired Quirrell and Lockhart and Moody and Umbridge. Lupin had been the only decent teacher so far – well, except from Rousseau. But the year wasn’t over yet, and going by what happened every year up until now, Harry was sure the professor would try to kill him at one point.

He stuffed the parchment in his pocket and quietly left the dorm just as the other boys started to wake up. If Snape and Rousseau were fighting again, it may be good for someone else to be around anyway – well, no. Not really. Especially not a student. But it _was_ an excuse, even if it was a bad one.

Avoiding all the corridors where teachers were, he only run into a handful of students who made their way to breakfast. Harry contemplated for a moment going there as well – he didn’t have that much time left before his lesson – but then decided against it. As usually, he wasn’t really hungry.

He ignored everyone as best as he could and managed to get down to Snape’s office quickly. There were no shouting voices. The door was closed, and Harry wondered what to do. It was already nearly half past eight; in half an hour his lesson would begin anyway.

Reluctantly he raised his hand to the door and knocked. It was better than eavesdropping and getting caught or some stupid thing like that.

The door opened, and Snape stood there, showing no intention of letting him inside. He didn’t sneer or snarl or _anything._ He just stood there, seemingly waiting for Harry to say something. When he didn’t, Snape asked in a voice devoid of any emotion, “Why are you here, Mr Potter?”

Harry gulped and stared at his feet. “Remedial Potions? Sir?”

The tension between them was way too delicate. Harry remembered the cursed letter and the accusations and wrapped his arms around himself, feeling uncertain and cold. How could he have forgotten this over Rousseau?  

“Didn’t you get my message?”

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t go to the great hall...”

“Of course you didn’t.” Snape sighted and sounded tired. “It would have told you not to come here. We’re not going to continue the lessons. At least not until... things have calmed down.”

_There it is. It’s not even a surprise, and yet... it hurts. At least he’s not angry. He has every right to do this, it is probably the sensible thing to do anyway..._

Harry wanted to say something. Apologize to him, even if it wasn’t his fault. Tell him, that this wasn’t easy for him either. Scream at him to not ignore him, to not treat him like he was invisible, insignificant.

But he couldn’t, because he felt he had no right to say anything at all. The stone corridor with its bare walls and flickering lights was eerie and depressing. Harry still had his arms wrapped around him. He felt miserable and knew he must look pathetic.

After long seconds, Snape started to close the door again. This finally managed to get Harry out of his stupor and he blurted, “Please, I...”

His failed attempt at saying something, _anything_ managed to get a reaction out of the man at last. He narrowed his eyes and snapped, “Don’t, Potter. This may come as a surprise to you, but the world doesn’t actually revolve around you. I’m in no mood to listen to your gibberish.”

“I know!”, Harry cried, thinking that provoking Snape was the only way to not get shut out completely. “But it wasn’t my fault! So, don’t go and treat me like, like– like I’m some pest! You could at least try to let me explain– I mean...”

“Explain?” Snape was smiling evilly now. “And what do you think you can explain to me, Mr Potter?”

He took a step back and gulped. “I didn’t... I’m not... I don’t know, all right?”

“Yes, I’m aware of that”, sneered the man. “Are there any other earth-shattering insights you want to share?”

Harry opened and closed his mouth, unable to think. Then, Rousseau’s voice saved him, coming from somewhere behind Snape and sounding inappropriately cheerful. “Ah Severus, don’t be so hard on the boy!”

The potions master turned around to glare at Rousseau, opening the door wider in the process. Rousseau sat in a comfortable looking armchair, holding a steaming mug and smiling brightly. “Good morning, Mr Potter! Would you like to join us for tea?”

Snape pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “What, by Merlin’s beard, do you think you are doing, Leo? I didn’t invite _you_. And certainly not for _tea_. And I most definitely won’t invite a _student_ for _tea_. Have you lost what little mind you ever possessed?”

“Yeah, well, probably not the best idea after this whole incident...” Leo chuckled, unperturbed by Snape’s angry words.

Harry stared at the man, still wondering why the map showed a different name. Was there a way to figure this out without getting into danger? Maybe he should just ask outright; at least right now, if worst came to worst, Snape was present as a witness.

And maybe Snape would realize that Harry truly did try to do the right thing. Or he would get really angry. But at least he wouldn’t get ignored. 

Before he could change his mind, he blurted: “Is Rousseau your real name?”

The Professor startled and some of liquid spilled over the rim of the mug. Snape turned around and Harry could feel the black eyes pinning him down. He kept his own stare on the Defence Professor and added, “I mean... I heard, that it’s not. So, I was just wondering, Sir.”

A different kind of smile slowly spread over Rousseau’s face, not quite reaching his eyes. “Is that so. And where did you hear of this, Mr Potter?”

“Does it matter?”, Harry retorted in an unsteady voice. His heart was in his mouth, and he was really glad for Snapes presence. Even if the man glared at Harry like he was about to use Legilimency on him.

“It does not, I suppose.” Rousseau bowed his head to one the side, his neck emitting cracking noises. “Rousseau is not a fake identity, if that’s what you fear. I thought it prudent to change my name in these dangerous times... If you’ve discovered this so easily however, I assume the precaution is useless.”

That still didn’t answer anything, nor was it a question. Harry kept silent and tried to show a confidence he didn’t have.

The man whose name wasn’t Rousseau grinned at that, relaxing. “Your behaviour indicates that you don’t know my former name. Am I right?”

“ _Leo!_ ”, warned Snape and drew his wand, making Harry jump. But he simply put up a silencing spell and didn’t say anything else, observing the two of them with an annoyed air about him.

Not getting interrupted so far gave Harry some courage, and he stuck out his chin. “No, I don’t... I guess it’s more of a nickname? Leo Minor?”

This had the other man burst out laughing. When he calmed down again, he put the mug on the desk and stood up. “And how did you figure that out?”

That was certainly not what he’d expected. Maybe he’d been wrong?

“That infernal map of yours, I assume?”, Snape drawled and held out his hand.

He really didn’t want to hand over the map, but couldn’t think of any excuse that wouldn’t be easily proven as a lie. Harry hesitated for a moment too long, and Snape added, “Hand it over, Potter.”

Seeing no way out of this, Harry took out the folded piece of parchment. At least it was blank at the moment, and Snape didn’t know the password. To his embarrassment, his fingers were shaking, when he handed the map over to the man.

Snape inspected it for a moment and then let it vanish in a pocket of his robe. “I’ll hold on to this for now.”

Rousseau was glancing at Snape for a moment, but didn’t demand to see the map. Instead, he turned to Harry, still grinning about some joke no one else understood. “I will have to ask you to keep quiet about this, Mr Potter. While this nickname isn’t something secret, I don’t want the wrong people start wondering about my name.”

When Harry hesitated, Snape glared at him. “Not everything is your problem, Mr Potter. Even if being the Chosen One sure makes you think so.”

 “Fine”, Harry agreed meekly without looking at Snape. He wouldn’t give the man any satisfaction by reacting to the comment.

“And Potter? Don’t come here again. We will resume both, the lessons and detention, as soon as I see fit. The next time I catch you lingering around where you don’t belong, you’ll serve detention with Mr Filch.”

Before he could do so much as nod, Snape shut the door into his face.

***

Without the additional lessons and the detentions, Harry had a lot more free time at his hands. The Quidditch team realized that soon enough and started pestering him again, but Harry refused. He avoided his fellow Gryffindors the best he could, going so far as to retrieve food from the kitchens so he didn’t have to go to meals.

Ron and Hermione didn’t like that at all, but stayed loyal and sometimes kept him company. Some other times, he spent time with Neville. The boy was doing better again. One morning, the newspaper had announced, that Bellatrix had been moved to a private location, getting individual treatment.

The rumours about Snape slowly lost their attraction and after two weeks, students started to gossip more about the two Gryffindor-girls than Snape and Harry. This wasn’t exactly good either, but still better than the alternative.

Snape didn’t continue the lessons. He didn’t speak a word to Harry at all, not even during potions. Harry felt himself almost missing the insults. But only almost. He started a habit of watching the man, waiting for any sign of acknowledgment. At times, when he did something really stupid, the Professor would send him a _look_ that he understood well enough. It made him happy, even if the looks were anything but kind. And other days, Snape didn’t so much as glance at him. Harry would observe the way he lurked about the classroom, how his long fingers held a quill when he marked essays or how the skilled hands prepared ingredients. He didn’t know how or why, but he got quite obsessed with such little details.

Rousseau on the other hand, treated him like usually. He didn’t speak to Harry about the nickname again, and Harry didn’t ask. Even if he was very curious. There were too many strange things happening. The two professors behaved like always, and Harry started to suspect, that Rousseau’s taunts and Snape’s anger were just pretence. The two of them were probably friends and just didn’t want anyone to guess. Why that was so, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out, and the question grated on his nerves. But Snape was right; it was none of his business.

Harry was also waiting for a reply from A. There hadn’t been a single word since his answer in third week. He wondered if he’d told A too much, or if A was in trouble because of what he’d done to Bellatrix. Or maybe A had decided that Harry wasn’t worth any attention after all. Harry regretted writing about the Dursleys and his trust-issues, but he didn’t know how to do anything about that.

And then, at the beginning of October, his nightmares started up again. He knew it was because Halloween was just around the corner, so it was nothing to get concerned about. Since the dreams were not visions or anything, just normal nightmares, he didn’t tell anyone about them. But he did sneak away to the room of requirement every once in a while to blow off some steam. There, he would imagine a room that had dozens of tree trunks lined up against the walls, and then he would _reductio_ holes into the wood and _incendio_ all the splinters until his magic was exhausted.

The note about the pink elephant was another thing bothering Harry. After he was unable to decide of what to do, Harry hid it in his bedside drawer and vowed to not take it out again. It would sometimes show up in his nightmares as a misplaced detail; but Harry didn’t care about that since he didn’t think about it. At all.

***

It was one of these times, when he was Not Thinking About Things and wandering aimlessly around the castle, that he somehow ended up on third floor before a door, hearing sobs coming out of the room. It was the bathroom where he’d seen Malfoy on the marauder’s map that morning.

Harry slowly opened the door, unsure why he was doing so; even while pushing the door open, he understood that he definitely shouldn’t be here. But then it was too late. His and Malfoy’s eyes met in the mirror over a sink and the other boy swirled around, drawing his wand. “Potter! What are you doing here?!”

Harry heard other people approaching, entered the room and closed the door behind him. “You probably want to put up a silencing charm.”

“How dare you!” Malfoy sent a hex in his direction, but it missed by several feet. Harry didn’t think that was by accident.

He held up his empty hands. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know who was in here and heard someone. I thought I’d look if everything was fine... but I guess, I’ll just leave again.”

Malfoy sneered. “Did you. How very gryffindor of you. The Chosen One, making his rounds and helping people. Do you enjoy that, Potter?!”

Harry shook his head, staring at the pale face and red-rimmed eyes. The other boy did look like he needed help, but Harry had no idea how to offer anything at all. “Are you... are you all right?”

“Am I all right?” Malfoy laughed, sounding hysteric and desperate. “Am I _all_ _right?!_ Get the fuck out of my sight, Potter, or I swear I’m going to kill you.”

Reaching for his own wand, he shook his head. “I didn’t mean to insult you Malfoy... I just meant that you do look like–”

Malfoy sent another hex at Harry and this time, he did have to duck. 

“I didn’t mean... Fine. Whatever. I’ll just leave.” Harry fingered for the doorknob behind his back so he didn’t have to lift his eyes from the blonde.

“Tell anyone about this and you’re dead.” Malfoy’s voice didn’t waver, and his wand was pointed steadily at Harry. It looked like a very good act, but like an act nonetheless.

Harry lifted his chin and retorted, “Oh really? I don’t believe you. You don’t strike me as a killer. Have you ever seen anyone die, Malfoy? It’s not as funny as it sounds. And I really don’t think you have it in you.”

“GET OUT!”, Malfoy shouted and threw his book bag at him.

Harry ducked again and backed out the door. Just before he closed it, he said, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Why would I? You’re not my enemy. Not really.”

There was a loud CRASH, followed by an angry scream.

Harry wondered, if he’d just ended their feud or started a new war.

***

Nearly a month after Bellatrix had ended up at St. Mungo’s, Kreacher showed up with an answer from A. As always, the elf had waited for him to be alone in the dorm until he delivered the message. Harry broke the seal open and eagerly read the reply.

_Dear H._

_First off, I must apologize for the late reply. I had some urgent matters to take care of and wasn’t home for some time. Furthermore, I want to thank you for your decision to trust me at least to some extent._

_As you’ve surly read in the papers already, Bellatrix has been moved to a different ward. This was not my doing. The Ministry may be irresponsible in some matters, but they’re hardly ever outright cruel._

_About the goals and your not-question: I don’t think I need to elaborate on how to stay away from the public and change things at the same time – how do you think most politicians work? But then again, you are only sixteen: maybe you’re right not to see this as your duty._

_As for your friends, I don’t want you to abandon them. I simply advise you to reconsider your view of them, as well as the information you trust them with._

_Regarding your answers: I must say, I’m impressed. I was convinced you would claim Voldemort was evil. Even I have trouble to discern any reason in his actions – and I dare say, I’m much more experienced in this subject, last but not least because I’m quite a bit older than you. But I agree with you, while his actions certainly are evil, he is not. He’s cruel and twisted, but there are reasons for that. And he wasn’t always like this... I don’t know if you ever heard of how he rose to power and why so many people were willing to follow him. Let’s just say, he can be very charming and is highly intelligent. Or at least was. I heard he’s quite insane since rising from the dead – or rather near-dead in this case._

_You labelled your own answer as childish. I don’t think it is. From your words I’d guess that you didn’t only simplify the relationship with your relatives, but also left out a lot. Don’t worry, I get it. My parents were rather... difficult as well. My brother fled the family before he was even of age, which left them bitter and unforgiving._

_Your inability to “trust”, as you call it, could be a weakness. I do wonder, if you see the true danger in this. While it is hard and painful to change such a habit, the other option is much worse. Growing older, a trait like this makes people withdraw into themselves and close off from the world. To each his own choice to live however they want; but we all need help in some things. And I’m not talking about help in a specific task. Imagine feelings are little pets. If they never socialize with others, they grow angry and resentful, starting to bite everything close enough – even if it’s their own master._

_This may sound harsher than I intended, so don’t worry about it too much. You’re still young, and I’m impressed by your ability to reason out so much about yourself already. Just try to look out for one person you can trust on a deeper level than your friends. You’ll be glad for it if your hardships ever grow too much for you to handle._

_And now, on to your questions. (Yes, I’ll answer three and ask you three questions as well.)_

_The books: Since I heard you mumble about Doxys and having to clean a bathroom, I thought you had more use for the book than I do. About the other one; I’m sure you figured this out by now? Did you dispose of the thing you were wearing around your neck? I’m afraid, I don’t know if any more of them exist... I can only guess._

_My birthday: It was last winter, and I spent it in my family-home with some distant relatives. Since we don’t see each other all that often, we spent the day catching up and drinking way too much._

_My greatest weakness: there are two actually. One is that I’m a very unforgiving person. I hold on to grudges even if they are unhealthy for me. The second one might be more dangerous; I tend to overestimate my own insight into things. While I do have a lot of knowledge about most things, I do not know everything. And sometimes I tend to forget that._

_And that’s enough of all this serious talk for a while, I’d say. In this spirit:_

  * _How are things at Hogwarts?_
  * _What is your favourite subject in school?_
  * _Do you like Sherbet Lemons?_



_Yours, A._

***

 

As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one will probably be up on Monday.


	11. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween brings terror and a message from Voldemort.

Learning how to live, chapter 11 – Halloween

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. –

***

Halloween meant loads of decoration and delicious food. The House-elves made sure the castle was in its best shape; everything was cleaned up, all armours and statues polished and the portraits freed of dust. Hagrid and Flitwick decorated the great hall with pumpkins as big as carriages, artificial bats and spiderwebs. More candles and torches were added to the corridors, not only to spend light but also to give the castle a warmer feeling. And last but not least the ghosts were in high spirits, giving their all to spook the students.

This year, the night of Halloween itself was on a Friday, and the students were all determined to make the most of it, being able to sleep in the next morning. By dinner, excited voices filled the great hall and the atmosphere was all around good.

Harry sat between Ron and Hermione. The two had not been talking to each other all week, but for today, they had decided on a truce. Ginny and Neville sat across from him and Harry was content to listen to the DA members chatting about school and their plans for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.

The topic of Quidditch was avoided by all; most of Gryffindor had realized by now, that it angered Harry. The rumours concerning Snape, too, had gotten old. Seamus and Dean still made some jokes about it, but everyone else would just roll their eyes at them.

Harry glanced at the head table, seeing that Snape was missing. This wasn’t really a surprise. It had been expected that Voldemort planned something for tonight and would summon all his loyal Death Eaters. Samhain being an important feast for the wizarding culture, the Dark Lord would celebrate it in his usual theatrical ways.

Rousseau was seated at Snapes place instead, leaning backwards and balancing his stool on two legs, so he could chat with McGonagall. Filch was sitting between them, talking to Miss Norris and feeding her something from his fingers. Harry still wondered who Rousseau really was, but it wasn’t so hard to avoid these thoughts anymore. While he was still curious, it didn’t seem to matter all too much.

Mostly because he was sure, that the Professor wasn’t a Death Eater. During one of the duels in the DADA lessons, he had taken off his coat, and, wearing only a shirt, exposed both his arms. He didn’t have the Dark Mark. It had also become obvious why the Professor was holding his wand in his left hand; he was missing his right arm up until his elbow. It was replaced by a construction of metal and wire, imitating arm and hand, and giving the Professor some of his abilities back.

When Seamus had asked Rousseau about it, Rousseau had said that he’d lost the arm to the fight against You Know Who. While this could be a lie, Harry didn’t believe so. There had been something about Rousseau’s expression, a haunted quality and a severity, which he’d never shown before or after.

Draco had not reacted well to that. Since that lesson, the blonde didn’t speak a word to the Professor. But then again, Draco didn’t seem to be doing well in general.

Harry turned around in his seat, looking at the Slytherin table. There were quite a few empty seats, some of the seventh- and sixth-year students were absent. With some relief, Harry saw Draco listening in on a conversation between Crabbe and Goyle (of whom the latter was gesturing around with his fork), his face showing a mixture of disgust and boredom.

Harry’s eyes moved to the Hufflepuffs where the mood was subdued. During Herbology last week, Hannah Abbot had been taken out of the lesson and told that her mother had been murdered by Death Eaters. The girl had been absent ever since. Harry didn’t know her well, even in the DA she’d always been a quiet one, but he still felt bad for her.

Harry also felt bad for not making any progress with Slughorn. Dumbledore had told him to get close to the teacher during the first lesson, which meant eight weeks ago. He knew it was important and that he should try harder. The problem was, Slughorn disgusted him. There was just something about his behaviour that gave Harry the creeps. It was hard enough to chat to the Professor and stay friendly – he had no idea how to get close enough to the man to ask about his memories.

At least, Harry’s lessons with Dumbledore went well so far. The headmaster had shown him some advanced Defence, mostly protective spells and wards, as well as some hexes. Harry was glad that this was something he was really good at. Like this, it wasn’t so hard to bare Dumbledore’s disappointment whenever he had to tell him that he hadn’t gotten any further in his mission with Slughorn.

At the head table, Dumbledore stood up and clapped his hands together, interrupting Harry’s musings. “A good evening to you all. I believe, there is no need for a long speech. You all look hungry and ready to enjoy the feast. So, without much further ado...” He clapped his hands together a second time and mountains of food appeared on the tables. “...enjoy your meal!”

The food smelled delicious. Determined to enjoyed himself, Harry put off all thoughts about the war and what Voldemort was doing, and served himself so much food, he was sure he would have a stomach-ache if he ate all of it. There would be enough time to feel depressed tomorrow when the papers arrived.

Dean and Ron were engaged in a contest of who could stuff the most bangers into his mouth, much to the amusement of the other boys. Ginny and Hermione though looked disgusted by their behaviour and started a conversation on their own.

“Did you hear about the Slug-Party?”, Ginny asked Hermione in a loud voice, making sure that Harry would hear her too. “Professor Slughorn saw me perform a Bat-Bogey-Hex on Zacharias – and, instead of giving me detention, he invited me to the party, saying that he’d never seen anyone perform the hex so perfectly.”

“Really?” Hermione stabbed a carrot with a bit more force than necessary. “I’m not sure I approve of his interpretation of the rules. He seems very biased. I’m invited to the party too, since I’m the Head Girl. While I don’t particularly like him, I’m sure it will at least be interesting; I heard all kinds of important people will be there.” She turned to Harry. “Oh, I completely forgot; he asked me to tell you, that you’re invited, too. The official invitation-cards will be sent out at the end of November, but he wants you to make sure you’re available. It’s on the 20th of December.”

“Mhhm.” Harry swallowed a piece of potato. “Great. I’m supposed to get to know him anyway.”

“What the hell, mate?” Seamus was grinning at him. “Since when are you one who’s into politics and stuff?”

“It’s not politics, it’s socializing”, corrected Hermione. “And it’s important we get to know people before we leave Hogwarts. Do none of you want an apprenticeship?”

Seamus groaned and Dean leaned over to them, so he didn’t have to shout. “Well yes – but Hermione; we’re only in sixth year. There is more than enough time for that next year.”

“You realize that the best apprentices get picked at the end of their sixth year?”, Hermione retorted and moved her eyes to his plate, wrinkling her nose. “Your tie is in the meat sauce.”

Dean cursed and tried to clean his tie.

“You sound like Malfoy”, Ron commented, making Hermine glare.

“So, why do _you_ want to go there, Harry?” Seamus pointed at him with his fork, making Hermione mutter something about boys and manners.

“Long story.” He tried to think of a good excuse. “Slughorn knows a lot of people. I thought it would be worth it, if I get to know someone who has influence with the Prophet. Maybe I can even put an end to them writing all this drivel about me.”

“Makes sense. But _urgh_.” He made a gagging motion “Better you than me. I’d rather put up with Blast-Ended Skrewts for another year than go to such an event.”

“I hate formal dinners and such.” Neville was pale again. “They always make me so nervous I muck up everything. Have you ever been to a formal wizarding event before, Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “No – well, except for the Yule Ball in fourth year. But that wasn’t so formal, right? Is there anything special I need to know?”

“What? You’ve never been out to a formal dinner before?” Ginny sounded surprised. “Don’t Muggles do that, too?”

Fighting his blush, Harry concentrated on moving around the food on his plate. “Well, yeah. But my relatives and I don’t get along too well, remember?”

She shook her head and Hermione patted him on the back, making him bristle.

“So, _are_ there things I need to know about or not?”

“Yes. Quite a lot, actually.” Over this subject, Neville lost all appetite and put his cutlery down. “How you have to dress, how you greet people, when and where to sit down, which cutlery to use and how to hold it, how to hold your wine glass, and so on. It’s all terribly complicated.”

“Ugh. There will be wine glasses?” At that, Harry lost his appetite, too. “Is there any chance one of you can teach me these things?”

“Sure”, chirped Ginny, and Neville shot her a confused look.

“But he’s a guy. He has different rules than you...”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I grew up with six brothers – I managed to pick up quite a bit.”

All of them glanced at Ron who was stuffing more bangers into his mouth, asking with his mouth still full, “ ‘mhat?”

“Er... Maybe it’s better if Neville teaches me?”, Harry asked, trying his best to sound diplomatic. “Since he’s in the same dorm with me and everything, he’ll be able to help me with cloths and stuff...”

“Fine. Suit yourself.” Ginny pointedly turned away from them and joined in on Lavender’s and Parvati’s conversation.

“You could at least try to be nice about it”, hissed Hermione at him.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Hermione her eyes, but didn’t actually give him an answer, just sighted, “Boys!”

Neville looked as clueless as Harry felt and shrugged, but Seamus burst into laughter and Dean grinned. “Grow up, mate, seriously! It’s getting kind of sad!”

Harry was saved from having to answer that, when a shrill caw made them all look at the enchanted ceiling. A black eagle soared towards the Gryffindor table; only it wasn’t a real bird, more of a skeleton with dead eyes. Someone cried a warning when something fell from its claws, making most students duck under the tables and while others drew their wands. The thing dropped right in front of Harry.

It was a severed hand, gripping a scroll in its fingers. Harry stared at it in horror, unable to move.

He heard Hermione cast a fire-hex at the bird and then the sound of something bursting into flames, but he couldn’t look away from the hand. Ron grabbed his arm and dragged him back from the table.

Some students were screaming, and Dumbledore’s voice boomed over the tumult, “Students, go back to your respective dorms! Prefects, assemble all first- and second-years and make sure, everyone gets back safely. Head of Houses, go to the dorms and make sure everyone is present!”

People started to move around him and Ron was trying to drag him along, but Harry managed free his arm and advanced the table again, slowly. The seal on the scroll didn’t have a stamp, but he knew from whom the message was and just like he knew that it was for him.

Then another hand grabbed his shoulder, bony but strong, and a commanding voice spoke into his ear, “Harry! Get back!”

This managed to startle him out of his stupor and he stared into Dumbledore’s blue eyes. They were hard and cold, fixed on the message on the table.

“I... It’s for me”, Harry managed to croak out, and he cleared his throat. His heart was beating too fast and the wand in his hand was trembling, but he knew he would have to do this. “I think I should open it. I need to know what it says.”

Dumbledore nodded, and shooed Hermione and Ron away, who had remained by Harrys side. “Go on, you two. This is something for the Professors to take care of.”

“But what about Harry?” Hermione’s face was pale and determined.

This made some of the sparkling return to the blue eyes. “Don’t worry, my dear. We won’t let anything happen to your friend.”

Hermione nodded and grabbed Ron’s arm, pulling him towards the other students who were crowding the entrance doors. Ron looked at Harry as if waiting for something, so Harry nodded at him. The other boy nodded back, before turning around, and the two of them left.

Harry forced his eyes back to the macabre picture in front of him. The hand was severed neatly, blood leaking out between flesh and bone, dripping slowly onto the table. It looked strangely fitting between all the colourful food.

“If I may, headmaster?” Rousseau moved over to them, his wand at the ready.

The other students had already left or were at the entrance doors, but Dumbledore still cast a spell that drew up a screen, shielding them from their views, before nodding to the Defence Professor.

Rousseau cast spell after spell at the hand, and Harry only realized after a few seconds that he was testing it for any traps or curses. He glanced over at McGonagall, who was disposing of the remains of the strange creature.

“What was that bird?”, Harry asked, more to distract himself than out of curiosity.

“That, my boy, was an Inferi; meaning, an animated corpse, built to do the bidding of its creator, much like a puppet. Very dark Magic is used for such a spell.”, explained Dumbledore, his hand still on Harry’s shoulder and Harry was glad for the support. “Voldemort had an army of them in the last war. While they are easily defeated with fire, their gruesome nature manages to install terror into the hearts of the ones fighting against them. As such, they are a powerful weapon.” 

Then, Rousseau stepped back and spoke up again. “There is no magic on the message, except a spell to make it only open to the addressed. Which is – predictably – you, Mr Potter.”

Harry nodded, to both him and Dumbledore. Taking a deep breath, he moved forward, shaking off Dumbledore’s hand. His fingers trembled as he reached for the scroll, but he felt strangely numb. He knew he should be frightened or nauseous – and he was sure, these feelings would overwhelm him later on – but right now, he was more excited than anything else. Finally, Voldemort had made his next move.

When the scroll didn’t come loose from the stiff, dead fingers, Harry chuckled hysterically. Thankfully, it was so low that no one else heard him. He put his wand back into his robes and used his now free hand to pry open the cold fingers, finally managing to take out the scroll. He broke the seal and unrolled it. Red letters flashed at him, and started burning as soon as he read them. By the time he finished, the whole parchment was on fire and he hastily let go of it. It fell to the floor, soon reduced to a pile of ash.

Dumbledore grabbed his shoulder again and shook him, an urgent look on his face. “What did it say, Harry?”

He blinked between the two men, confused, then cleared his throat. “Didn’t you read it as well?”

They looked at him strangely, and Rousseau answered, “No, Mr Potter, it was in a language I couldn’t decipher.”

“Parseltongue?”, Harry guessed and Dumbledore nodded.

“It said... well... That he attacked Godric’s Hollow. Because of me. Most people are dead but he has twenty-three hostages... From today on, he will kill one of them each day, unless... unless I turn myself in. He said that like this I would realize, that the Magical world isn’t really on my side. Or at least not for long anymore.”

Harry stared at his shoes. Maybe it had been a mistake to tell them the truth. If he hadn’t, he could have sneaked off to meet Voldemort by himself. Now, they would make sure that he couldn’t do that.

_But that is the reason why you told them, right? Because you don’t want to die..._

“Listen to me, my boy.” Dumbledore shook him slightly until he looked at the old man. “This is not your fault. Voldemort is the one killing them. We will gain nothing by giving in to the blackmail of a madman. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded. Of course he understood. While Dumbledore’s words were true to some extent, they were also an excuse. They would gain something if Harry were to offer himself; time for the Aurors to try and free the hostages.

“Why, headmaster? Is the boy truly worth more than twenty-three lives?” Rousseau still held his wand, not pointing it at anyone, but neither showing any intention of putting it away.

Those words made Dumbledore swirl around, and Harry took a step back to not get hit by a swinging beard. He observed the two wizards glaring at each other. While Rousseau’s question was justified and reasonable – and not a minute ago Harry had thought exactly the same – it still made him angry.

Mostly, because he realized that a lot of people were going to think this way. How could anyone expect him to sacrifice himself? If it were anyone else, like Ginny or Neville or just _anyone,_ people would never even think this was an option. But Harry was the Chosen One. So they would accuse him of being selfish; assuming that maybe he would even come out of another encounter with Voldemort unscathed. That it was his duty.

“This is not a matter of the school, Leo. And even if it was, there is no way we are ever going to sacrifice a student.” The headmaster’s words sounded definite and Rousseau bowed his head slightly.

“I’ll dispose of the... envelope, then.” He levitated the severed hand and walked towards the door behind the head table.

Dumbledore watched him walk away, then turned back to Harry. “You must promise me you will not try to do anything, my boy.”

Harry glanced around the empty hall, unable to meet Dumbledore’s eyes. It was still warm and bright and the smell of food hung in the air like a heavy blanket. Things were lying about as if people had fled in an instant. More than one student had forgotten some of his or her belongings. One of the Hufflepuff’s banks was toppled over. It was all so unreal.

“Will the Ministry have to know about this?”, Harry asked instead of answering.

“I’m afraid so. But don’t worry, they will not ask anything unreasonable of you.”

Harry nodded. “I know. You won’t let them, right?”

“Listen to me, Harry. Voldemort wants this to divide our side; we cannot let that happen. You _must not_ listen to his threats. Do you understand?”

He nodded again.

“I need your word, Harry, that you won’t leave the castle; that you are not going to do anything about this”, the headmaster urged again.

Harry gulped. Dumbledore made it so easy for him, too easy. He felt ashamed. “I won’t go. I... I don’t want to die.”

The headmaster smiled kindly at him. “None of us do, my dear boy. While death is nothing to be afraid of, it would be foolish not to fear the process of dying itself.”

***

The next morning, the Prophet reported the attack on Godric’s Hollow. The list of the dead was long and a lot of people at Hogwarts had lost a relative or a friend. A first-year from Gryffindor and a fifth-year Hufflepuff had both lost their whole family; they weren’t present at breakfast. Some students were crying openly, others were in shock and had to be carried off to Madam Pomfrey. There were also those who were angry and had to be held back from attacking the Slytherins. Those Slytherins who had not been present during the feast, were not back yet, and McGonagall announced that all of them were being questioned at the moment.

Snape was still absent, too and Slughorn filled in as head of house. It was obvious that he was hopelessly overwhelmed with all the chaos. He stood next to the Slytherin table and tried to calm down some of the crying first-years, while at the same time, Rousseau was holding those students off who tried an attack. Draco was pale and unusually quiet – but then again, most of the Slytherins were. It seemed, not all of them were supporters of Voldemort and had been just as affected by the events as the rest of the students.

Dumbledore was absent as well, and McGonagall as the acting Deputy Headmistress would fill in for him for the next few days. He had gone to the Ministry, trying to sort out things there.

Not long after the Prophet had arrived, the great hall descended into a state of chaos. More owls arrived, delivering extra-editions with more information about the attack. When it became known that Voldemort held some people hostage, more students panicked. The niece of Bathilda Bagshot, a third-year Hufflepuff, as well as two brothers from Ravenclaw, fifth and seventh-year, had family among them. They too, were absent, having been informed first thing in the morning.

Soon, the remaining students started to whisper about what it could be that Voldemort wanted. Most guessed, he was keeping the hostages to blackmail the Ministry. Others thought he wanted to use them for some Dark Arts ritual. Harry didn’t wait around until they figured out the truth.

He left the great hall without eating anything again, feeling too guilty to look at the misery around him. He knew he was destroying his health by not eating – or sleeping for that matter – but he couldn’t. It gave him a strange kind of satisfaction to punish himself this way. Some part of him knew this was because of his upbringing by the Dursleys, and that this behaviour was self-destructive. But that didn’t really matter in the end. He deserved to be punished; or at least feel bad. It was him who was to blame for all of this – no matter what Dumbledore said.

Harry knew that Voldemort’s actions weren’t his fault, and that offering himself up as an exchange for the hostages wouldn’t help. Even if he did that, they would probably be killed in the next instant. There was nothing he _could_ do, no matter how often he tried to think things through.

To think that he was to blame for this, was a bit harsh, and he knew that it wasn’t entirely true. It was more like he was the trigger of the whole mess with Voldemort, no matter how much he didn’t want it. It had been his blood that had brought Voldemort back. And while he couldn’t have known that the Triwizard Cup was a Portkey, there were other things he _did_ know; and yet, he was doing nothing about them. Voldemort was after him. Whoever stood in his way, would pay for it. So why the hell was he still here, at a school, with all these innocent students?

After hours of wandering aimlessly around the castle, he finally curled up in an alcove in a desolated corridor and stared out over the grounds. Mist was hovering over the Forbidden Forest, obscuring the hills in the distance. Autumn had crept up on them over night, and the weather had turned cold and inclement, along with the atmosphere in the castle.

He saw Hagrid at the edge of the forest chop up the pumpkins with their carved faces. Smiles and grimaces. Chop, chop, chop. Fang was happily jigging around Hagrid and barking at the orange bits that flew into all directions.

Only yesterday, people had been happily anticipating Halloween.

Harry thought of going to the Room of Requirement to blow off some steam. But he didn’t feel angry. And he was tired and freezing. So he wrapped his arms around himself, determined to sit here and brood until he figured out a solution to the whole mess.

***

By the time it was time for lunch, no solution was in sight. Harry knew, he should go down to the great hall, but he was too tired to move. He had his eyes closed and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He had a headache from all his brooding and yet he still had gotten nowhere.

It was all the same in the end. He couldn’t do anything, and it made him feel like a horrible person that he didn’t even want to. He was scared and he hated it. This was so much more difficult than storming headfirst into danger; there, he’d never had time to stop and freeze up, he’d always just had to act.

Now, he could hear the treacherous voices of his own insecurities and fears whispering to him; that it was safer in the castle, that he had a prophecy to fulfil and couldn’t die now, that it wasn’t his duty to save everyone, that he didn’t even know those people... and that was the worst about it all. Harry was sure, that if Voldemort had taken Lupin as a hostage, he would do whatever it took to get him out, without ever even considering any other possible ways of action.

“Harry!”

His eyes snapped open and saw Hermione jog towards him. “‘Mione.” He had cleared his throat, his voice being all croaky from not speaking for so long. “What happened?”

By the time she stopped in front of him and shook her head, he was already on his feet. “Nothing. But–” She gasped for air. “Snape is looking for you. He was at lunch and asked for you. When no one knew where you were, he got really angry and said that you missed Remedial Potions this morning and that you have to–”

“What?” Harry stared at her, thinking she must have gotten something wrong. How could Snape think about this now, when so much more important things were happening?! “But he never even said that I had another lesson with him!”

Hermione shook her head, still out of breath. “You have to report to his office. I’d hurry if I were you, he was _really_ angry.”

“I... all right. What time is it anyway?” Harry started walking towards the direction of the stairs and Hermione followed him. He realized they were pretty far up in the castle since he couldn’t recognize any of the portraits around them.

“Something before two, I think. We’ve been looking for you all over the castle!”

“Crap. Sorry.” He hurried his steps, but just as he got to the first staircase, two other girls stepped in his way.

The older one of them smiled at him shily. “Harry. Can we speak with you for a moment?”

Harry was sure he didn’t know her. She was blonde and about the same height as Harry, while her friend was dark-skinned and had black hair. Had they already figured out what it was, that Voldemort wanted for the hostages? The way she was smiling it seemed to be about something else… “Uh, I’m actually in a bit of a hurry.

“It won’t take long.” She held out her hand to him. “My name is Orla Quirke and I’m in fourth year, Ravenclaw. This is Sarah Fawcett, she’s in Ravenclaw like me, but in fifth year.”

“Uh, nice to meet you.” Harry hastily shook their hands. “But I really need to get going – Snape is looking for me.”

Sarah made a sympathetic noise, but Orla wasn’t so easily deterred. “It won’t take long; we only wanted to ask you if you want to join our club, the BITG.”

“Since when is there a club like that?” Hermione looked the other two girls up and down, her voice distrustful. “And what does that even stand for?”

Sarah smiled back and Harry admired her steadfast refusal to be deterred from being polite. “It stands for Believe In The Good. We try to give support to those who need it at the moment, reminding people that there will be better times again.”

“No, he does definitely not want to join you _._ And if I remember correctly, you still don’t have permission form Professor McGonagall for your _club!_ ”, hissed Hermione, grabbing Harry’s arm before he could say anything, and dragged him down the stairs.

“What was that about?”, he asked and tried to not stumble over his own feet.

“They’re fanatics. Believe me, you’re better off without them!”

“Fanatics about what?”

“About the, the... the _Good_!” She was gesturing wildly with her arms, as if that made everything obvious. Even together with her verbal explanation, it made no sense at all.

“The Good. And what’s bad about that?”

“That they’re fanatics! Why do you think McGonagall won’t give them permission for the club?”

“Yeah, I get that; but what do they _want_? Or what do they _do_ , or– _Whatever_ , that makes them fanatics?”

“They think that believing in the Good will save us all. That people must work for the Good and spread joy and happiness – everyone who does not do so is evil.”

“What. That makes no sense.”

“No it _doesn’t_ – and that’s my point!”, exclaimed Hermione.

Harry glanced at her from the side, surprised to see her so worked up. “Uh, you realize, that spreading joy and happiness doesn’t sound too bad?”

“Well, no”, Hermione agreed. “But they think everyone has to be like them – and that’s just creepy.”

They finally got to the bottom of the staircases and Hermione lunged her arms around him without any warning, making him stagger for a bit. “Oh, Harry. You know that what happened is not your fault, right?”

“’Mione, I can’t breathe!” When she finally let go of him, he saw that she had tears in her eyes and added, “I know. It’s just... I needed time to think. Are you and Ron okay?”

She smiled a watery smile. “We are, as much as possible at the moment, considering things... It will take time, but everyone will be alright again… eventually, I think.”

Harry nodded and gestured towards the corridor leading into the dungeons. “I’ll better get going then...”

She nodded too, but it seemed more of an attempt at normalcy than a gesture of agreement, and rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, see you later, I guess.”

He waved good-bye and quickened his pace to a jog, wondering what in Merlin’s name Snape could want from him. The Professor hadn’t even been present at breakfast; so why would he suddenly start up lessons again?

Arriving in front of Snape’s office, he slithered to a stop, took a deep breath and knocked.

“Enter!”, boomed an impatient voice and Harry opened the door.

“Sir? You told me–“

“Potter! Where in Salazar’s name have you been?!” Snape got up behind his desk and stalked around it, making Harry stumble back a step. He was grabbed by his arm and bodily dragged into the office. Then Snape slammed the door shut with a loud BANG and glared at Harry.

“I didn’t know you wanted to continue the lessons.” Harry straightened his back, determined to not back down this time. The man had said that he would tell Harry when the lessons would start up again – it wasn’t his fault that no one had informed him!

Snape made a fast movement with his hand, as if about to grab him again, and Harry recoiled instinctively. This seemed to have been a huge mistake, infuriating the man even more. For long seconds, Snape looked like he wanted to strangle him, but then he marched back to his seat behind the desk.

Harry could only stare at him, his heart racing and his mouth dry.

“Sit down.” Snape gestured towards the chair in the corner, and when Harry hesitated for a moment, added a threatening, “ _Now!_ ”

He hurriedly grabbed the chair and moved it over to Snape’s desk, sitting down across from him. It seemed safer to say nothing and wait for the man to calm down, so Harry stared at his knees, and at the odd things on Snape’s desk, and at Snape’s right hand which was angrily clenched around a quill, nearly snapping it in two.

Why _was_ the man so angry anyway? Even if he’d missed a lesson; it wouldn’t warrant such a rage. Maybe he was still affected from yesterday’s events? Harry _really_ didn’t think it was a good idea to ask Snape if he’d been with the other Death Eaters during the raid at Godric’s Hollow. No, this was _definitely_ the most _dreadful_ idea anyone could have. So he wouldn’t ask. Even if he was curious. Very curious. It was probably for the best, if he didn’t even open his mouth.

Harry started chewing on his lip and tried to distract himself. Snape released the death grip on his quill and carefully put it down. His fingers were long and pale, and– Nope, not going there. Taking a deep breath, Harry moved his gaze to the slimy things on the shelves.

“Where have you been since breakfast, Mr Potter? Professor McGonagall was looking for you and none of your friends knew anything of your whereabouts.” Snape sounded remarkably calm and had his eyes half closed, looking like a cat watching its prey.

“I was on the fifth floor, in a corridor.” Harry was _not_ going to tell the man his worries.

“What were you  doing there?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing”, Snape repeated with a sneer.

“Well, sitting in an alcove.... and thinking.”

“How shocking.” Snape pressed his hands flat against the desk and leaned forward. “And _what_ were you thinking about, Mr Potter?”

Harry clenched his hands into fists. “Why does it matter?”

Snape’s right hand jerked, but didn’t actually move. Harry refused to lift his gaze, certain that Snape would try to use Legilimency on him. 

“It matters, because people were worried about you, you selfish brat!”

That surprised him enough to almost stare at the man in shock. He barely managed to restrain himself and concentrated on those hands again. “ _Why_?”

“Because you’re an imprudent Gryffindor and the Dark Lord asked you to come to him!”, hissed Snape, his hands twitching but still not moving. Harry started to wonder if Snape held them like this, so that he wouldn’t scare Harry – but that made no sense at all, because the man didn’t care if Harry was scared; he’d probably even enjoy it if he knew how easily it was to startle him.

“Oh.” Harry felt bad about that, even if he was sure, Snape wasn’t one of the people who had been worried. Because it seemed childish to wait for the question to be asked, he added, “Sorry. Since I already promised Dumbledore that I wouldn’t do anything, I didn’t think of that. I really was just thinking about yesterday... not planning anything or something like that... Sir.”

And no, he did not add that because he felt guilty for the unlikely possibility, that he was wrong and Snape had been worried, or that the man truly was holding his hands visible for Harry’s sake. Because he knew, there was no way that this was so. He only said these things because he had decided to behave more mature, once upon a time, during summer holidays. That was the only reason. Definitely.

Snape muttered something under his breath and Harry was certain the man was cursing his gryffindorish stupidity. Why he didn’t do it out aloud like usually, was just another mystery.

“So”, Harry started, when Snape asked no more questions. “Are we going to continue the lessons? Or was that just an excuse to get me here without telling anyone about Vol– I mean You-Know-Who’s blackmail? Sir.”

With a longsuffering sight Snape leaned back in his chair. “Yes, we will continue the lessons. If only to make sure you don’t wander off again. But not this weekend. And Potter? Eat something. If you think pretending to be a martyr is somehow heroic, you’re wrong. Neither the Dark Lord nor the Prophet have time for your childish whims... going into hunger strike will not impress anyone.”

“I didn’t–” Harry glared at the man and realized how exhausted Snape looked. Instead of finishing his sentence, he got up. “Whatever. So, shall I come here on Tuesday then, Sir?”

“Yes, Mr Potter.” He gestured towards the door. “Now leave, I have other things to take care of.”

***

As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)


	12. November – December

Learning how to live, chapter 12 – November – December

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. –

***

The next month, there was permanently someone at Harry’s side. At first, he was really angry at his friends for trailing him like this. No matter where he went, there was always someone nearby, acting as if they were there just by chance. If he went to the lake or the Quidditch pitch, Ron would tag along, suddenly needing fresh air. If he went to the library, Hermione would be there – at least she gave him no ridiculous excuses. If he wanted to lock himself behind the curtains of his bed, it wouldn’t take long until Ron or Neville showed up, asking what he was doing. Going to the Room of Requirement had become impossible since someone was guaranteed to show up and want something from him.

Being caged in like this made him feel irritated and he took it out on his friends. Then, after the first few days, when the Prophet somehow learned of the message Voldemort had sent to Harry, things changed. He was glad then, that his friends never left him alone.

The students were not only staring at him and whispering whenever he walked past, some of them even attacked him openly. McGonagall’s announcement that the students were to leave him be, did nothing against that. They were angry, mostly those of whom a family member was held hostage, but also those that had lost somebody they knew. The friends of the Ravenclaw-brothers, whose parents and little siblings had been taken hostage, ambushed Harry in a corridor and tried to hex him. Others would shout at him and blame him, making scenes wherever he went. On one occasion, Harry had realized just in time, that his food tasted weird. Hermione tested it and found out that it had been spiked with Draught of the Living Death.

There were also people from the Ministry who wanted to speak to him. They said it was about the exact content of Voldemort’s message, but Harry suspected, Fudge wanted to use the blackmail to his own advantage. Thankfully, Dumbledore was able to chase them off before Harry had to talk to them.

All in all, the next twenty-three days at Hogwarts were hell. And some time after that as well. People didn’t forget about the horrible incident so quickly and the students were divided; the ones that were on Harry’s side, thinking that he had done the right thing, and the others that were angry at him and Dumbledore for not giving in to Voldemort’s blackmail.

The only time he didn’t have to constantly watch his back was during his lessons and detentions with Snape. Harry was almost glad for those times, but only almost. The man was still a snarky bastard, and that Harry wasn’t making any progress in his lessons didn’t help things.

Harry tried to concentrate on his schoolwork and additional lessons, and while the first improved a lot over time, the second got steadily worse. He suspected, it was because he wasn’t able to go to the Room of Requirements, even if Snape said he missed _intent_ and _focus_. His magic was out of control again, acting on its own at the most inconvenient of times. He also still hadn’t figured out yet if there was a second reason for this, beside his emotional turmoil; the library held no books with information about Blood-curses or the side effects of Dark Magic and Dark Arts – or at least not the unrestricted section. He’d asked Madam Pomfrey how it was possible to figure out if someone was affected by Muggle-medicine, but, when the woman had wanted to know what he was on about, he’d had to backtrack. He didn’t want this to get out; it would give people just an additional reason to put him into the centre of attention.

At least his marks in potions improved, thanks to the book of the Half-Blood-Prince. Whoever the person was or had been, Harry was fascinated by him. His ideas about all kinds of potions, spells, and thoughts were intriguing, and Harry caught himself brooding over the scrawled notes for hours, instead of writing his essays. Snape hadn’t said anything more about the book or the original owner. One more thing which made no sense to Harry; why would the man hand him a resource like that? Harry using the book was clearly cheating.

The growing list of things he did not know and needed to figure out because they were Really Important, was troubling him. Aside from the obvious Voldemort-problem, there were Snape and Rousseau, his wayward magic, the pink elephant note, Dumbledore’s manipulations, and A whit whom he was still writing letters back and forth. At least the last one seemed to be going well; since the whole Bellatrix-incident they were writing about inconsequential stuff. Harry was glad to have someone he could mention all his thoughts to.

And then there were also the things he ought to be doing but didn’t manage to find any time for; befriend Slughorn, figure out why Draco was looking more exhausted each day, search for more information about the mirror in the Hidden Attic, and talk to his friends – not just talk to them, like at lunch or so, but seriously talk to them about all that had happened. There never seemed to be a good time for that anymore.

Ah yes, and there was still his obsession with observing Snape – which he didn’t want to think about, because even admitting to be watching the man sounded creepy – and the whole issue about his sexuality (and no, the two of them were absolutely not related, not even the tiniest little bit, and _no_ , he was _not_ thinking about this stuff!).

While most people had given up on asking him to play Quidditch, others had started getting on his nerves for even less important stuff. How the disaster at Halloween could have encouraged Romilda Vane and Ginny to chase after him, was a mystery to him.

The BITG-club had won some popularity, and was, much to Hermione’s dismay, now one of the official student-clubs at Hogwarts. They wanted Harry to join them, thinking that he looked too gloomy. While this sounded like a simple matter, it was really hard work to get them off his back; they were so polite and determined, that he would’ve felt bad for shouting at them. So he declined their offers. As respectfully as he could. Repeatedly. Until his words were anything but respectful.

On a Saturday the end of October, a Hogsmeade weekend, Harry was again in one of his detentions with Snape, pondering who he could ask for the Slug-Ball. That was something that worried him even more than his lacking knowledge about etiquette. Neville had helped him a lot with that, but Harry suspected he would be way more nervous now that he knew about all the things he could do wrong, than he would have been if he’d remained ignorant.

He must have gotten distracted by his thoughts, because suddenly Snape stood beside him and Harry hadn’t even heard him approaching. The man glared at his mortar and told Harry that the horn of a Bicorn and a Unicorn were not remotely similar – that this most definitely proved that Harry lacked a brain no matter what the headmaster said (or something like this. Harry didn’t listen to everything that came after “the horn of a Bicorn and a Unicorn are not similar”).

Harry was saved from answering, when the door burst open and a very pale Draco Malfoy stumbled inside, babbling something unintelligible. Snape hurriedly dragged other boy through the backdoor of his office and left Harry alone for the rest of the day.

Only when Harry got back to the common room did he hear about the incident with the cursed necklace. Leanne, a seventh-year Hufflepuff, had been cursed with it and they had to relocate her to St. Mungo’s. Katie, who had been with her, had recounted that she’d received the package in the Three Broomsticks and had probably been under Imperius. She’d also been taken to the Hospital Wing by McGonagall and given a dreamless sleep potion.

The students in the common room were worried for Leanne and also frightened, because something like this had never happened this close to Hogwarts. Well, except to Cedric, but he had been a champion – what alarmed the students most was how Leanne and Katie were just normal students, not involved in anything related to the war.  

Ron and Lavender were clinging to each other on one of the couches and Hermione was nowhere in sight, so Harry went to the dorm. He was certain, Malfoy had something to do with this; but the other boy had been hysteric himself when he’d shown up in Snape’s office, not gloating about the incident. So, what the hell _had_ happened? It made only sense, that Malfoy had intended to give the necklace to someone else. And by the looks of it, he’d meant to kill the person. And how did that fit together with Malfoy looking worse with every day?

Harry had an idea. But it was frightening. And he didn’t like it at all, because if he was right, Malfoy was in really deep trouble.

When Malfoy joined his detention with Snape on Sunday, Harry wasn’t too surprised. He didn’t even ask, not that the two Slytherins would have given him an answer, anyway. Harry decided to stick to his plan to mind his own business. At least for the moment. He not only trusted Snape to do whatever was necessary, but also had his own problems to take care of.

***

A few days later, Malfoy waited for Harry after their joined Defence lesson. He was not only unaccompanied, signalling Crabbe and Goyle to go on without him, but also looked terribly nervous.

Ron immediately wanted to tell him to leave Harry alone, but Harry felt, he could at least listen to what the other boy had to say. Malfoy insisted on speaking to him in private, so he followed him into an empty classroom and held his wand at the ready; it would be just his luck for this to backfire, after all.

But when the blonde turned to face him, he held up his empty hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not here to fight, Potter.”

Harry didn’t put his wand away and just waited. After already having been hexed by angry people three times this week, he was not going to take any risks.

Malfoy swallowed visibly. “Look, I’m sorry about the other day. In the bathroom. I was a bit confused.”

“Confused?” Harry wished he could lift just one eyebrow and in an imitation of Snape. “I thought you looked rather desperate and scared...”

“Malfoy’s don’t get _desperate!_ ”, the blonde sneered and then shook his head. “Look, can we do this without the insults? Just... listen, all right? I need to tell you something.”

Harry nodded when Malfoy looked at him with a positively desperate look.

“I know that you have more than enough reasons to distrust me. But...” He raked a trembling hand through his hair, ruffling it in a utterly un-Malfoy-like manner. “Ah, fuck. Look, I know you hate my father. And me. And my mother probably as well. But you have to understand, that I want to save them from– from _him._ But I also don’t want to do whatever _he_ asks me to do in order to do that. Do you understand?”

“Uhm, you mean Voldemort?”

Malfoy flinched and shot him an angry look. “I know you’re not daft, so stop pretending.”

“Fine.” Harry sighted and hopped onto on one of the desks, gesturing for Malfoy to do the same. “Yeah, I can imagine that Vo– You-Know-Who is angry at your father. And he probably asked you to kill someone, right? The necklace and all?”

Swaying a bit, Malfoy nodded and then sat on a desk beside him, staring at the far end of the room. His voice was only a whisper when he answered. “I don’t... I don’t want to do it. But I have no _choice_. He will kill us all if I don’t.”

Well, fuck.

Harry was not sure what the hell _he_ was supposed to do about that. He couldn’t really have a little chat with Voldemort and change his mind, after all. “Did you tell Snape?”

“No! You– Well, not that I don’t _want_ to do it. You realize, he’s a Death Eater, right?”

Harry chewed his lip. He couldn’t tell Malfoy about Snape being a spy. Or anything at all, really, it was too risky. “He’s your godfather, so I think he’d try and help you...”

Malfoy jumped to his feet and hissed, “Fuck you, Potter! You know exactly this is no option! Snape would tell the Dark Lord – do you have any idea what the he would do to me, to my parents?! Or maybe that’s exactly what you want?!”

“Oh, come off it! I’m just trying to think of a way to help you!”, Harry shot back, before taking a deep breath. “You don’t want to go to Dumbledore, right?”

“No way. The old coot hates my Family.”

Harry suspected rather, Dumbledore would use Draco for his own purposes.

Malfoy didn’t seem to realize, that Harry had no way to help him, at least not on his own. “I don’t know what you want me to do– no, really, listen. I have no power, not the way you probably think I do. It’s not like I can change either Voldemort’s or Dumbledore’s or Fudge’s mind. I can promise not to be your enemy, but... there is nothing I can really _do._ I’m sorry.”

“That’s...” Malfoy was trembling and Harry worried, he’d have a breakdown. But then he visibly pulled himself together. “Fine. I propose a deal. We make a truce. I’ll try my best to delay the thing the Dark Lord wants me to do. And... I’ll give you as much information as I can. And you will in return do everything you can to help my family.”

Harry stared at him. “How? And why should I believe you? You could be just using me.”

“Of course I’m using you!” Malfoy pointed out his chin, as if this was something to be proud of. “I want your help to save my family! And no, I won’t lie to you – I’m not exactly a fan of the Dark Lord myself, if you haven’t realized yet! And you could at least... put in a good word for my parents, if worse comes to worst. Or for me, if I get arrested.”

That was a deal way too good to not make him suspicious. Then again, Malfoy was desperate. Even if Malfoys didn’t do desperate. And it wouldn’t hurt Harry, right? “You realize I can only do that if You-Know-Who is dead, right? Otherwise you’d get killed for sure.”

Malfoy nodded, pale and serious. “I know. And if Voldemort takes over,...”

“I’d probably be dead and wouldn’t be able to tell anyone. So, if that happens, you can flee”, Harry offered. The thought was terrifying. He didn’t want to imagine how things would look like under Voldemort’s regime. “But I need you to swear that you won’t hurt anyone.”

“I swear”, Malfoy agreed easily, as if there had never been any other option. “How about–“

The door banged open, making them both jump. Snape stood there, wand in hand and livid by the look of it. “Just what do you think you are doing, Draco?”

Malfoy stared at Snape wide-eyed and opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Realizing, Malfoy would probably hex him for this, Harry braced himself. “Sir? I think he needs your help.”

The two Slytherins both shot him furious looks and he gulped. “Well, sorry, but this is just getting ridiculous. Malfoy and I are both students, and–“

“Silence, Potter!” Snape pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Then he closed the door behind him, locked it and warded the room. “You two are the most imbecilic students I have ever had the displeasure to come across. Do you think this is a game?! Do you have _any_ idea of what you have just done?!”

Malfoy pointed his wand at Snape. “I’m sorry, Severus, but I can’t let you–“

“ _Put. That. Away._ You foolish, reckless, idiotic–” Snape shook his head as if he was at the end of his nerves.

“Uhm.” Harry cleared his throat to get their attention, deciding they would get nowhere like this. He ducked his head in preparation and explained, “Draco came to me and told me about the necklace. And that he’s supposed to kill someone.”

While Draco looked like he wanted to strangle him, Snape just rolled his eyes. “Yes Potter, I realized that much myself. Not using a silencing spell for such a conversation–“ He shook his head again. “You will tell no one about this, Potter. Do you understand? _No one_.”

Harry nodded, and chewed his lip again. He wondered if Snape would take Malfoy to Dumbledore – the man was loyal to the headmaster after all. But surely Snape realized that he couldn’t be trusted in this matter? Maybe he’d even help Malfoy, but only for a prize.

It would be a risk to ask Snape to keep this form Dumbledore, but probably worth it. It were nothing new to have the Snape’s ire directed towards him – and the man thought he was stupid anyway, so he could probably talk himself out of it, if necessary. “I won’t. But Sir? I... I think it would also be a bad idea to tell Professor Dumbledore about this.”

“And why would you think that?” Snape’s voice was dangerously quiet and he advanced Harry slowly, his wand still in his hand.

Harry gulped and prayed he made the right choice. “Er... Well, he’d probably expel Malfoy. Or use him for his own purpose. But he wouldn’t truly _help_ him.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “And I am to believe that _you_ do, Mr Potter?”

“Yes.” He met the black eyes, willing the man to see that he was serious. There was no reason in _not_ helping Malfoy – sure, he didn’t like the prat. But the other boy was just as much caught up in the circumstances of someone else’s making as Harry was.

“You’re such a Gryffindor, Potter”, groaned Malfoy and that broke the tension.

“Well, yeah, of course I am”, agreed Harry and tried to grin at the blonde. His face hurt at the attempt, but it made Malfoy relax a bit.

“Am I to take from this that you know for sure that Professor Snape is on your side?”

Harry rolled his eyes. He’d just love to comment on the fact, that the two Slytherins needed a Gryffindor to figure that out. “Yeah, I’d hardly tell him otherwise.”

Malfoy shot him a doubtful look, but put his wand away. “Thanks Potter. I guess I owe you.” He then turned back to the Professor. “Sir? May I ask for an opportunity to explain things to you?”

Snape glared at the blonde and then pointed Harry to the door. “Leave, Potter. And remember, no word about this to anyone. Understood?”

All too glad to leave, Harry jumped up immediately. “Yes Sir, no one would believe me anyway.”

“ _Potter_! I want your word. And I sincerely hope that you are able to lie to your friends about this; Mr Weasley is waiting for you right outside.”

“Sir, maybe we should obliviate him – Potter is a horrible liar.”

“What?!” Harry scowled at Malfoy. “I can lie perfectly fine – just because I don’t do it all the time that doesn’t mean I can’t. Not everyone is a Slytherin and telling five lies before breakfast.”

Malfoy smirked.

Exasperated, Harry turned back to Snape. “You have my word, Sir. Can I go now?”

“ _May I_ go”, the man corrected automatically and lifted the wards from the door to let Harry pass. “And yes, you may.”

Harry nodded to Malfoy and then fled the room before Snape could remember his promise to give Harry detention if he ever again found him in a place he didn’t belong.   

***

The next time Harry had detention with Snape, Malfoy was there again as well. He glared resentfully at Snape for the whole afternoon, but at the same time, seemed more relaxed than all school year. Harry wondered why the Slytherins suspected him of not being able to lie, when Malfoy was that obvious.

Dumbledore hadn’t appeared to suspect anything; at least he’d not asked any questions or tried to look longer into Harry’s eyes than usual. It had also been no problem to fool his friends into believing that Malfoy had wanted to ask him for tips for Quidditch, especially since the next game was coming up. It was Slytherin against Gryffindor and Harry himself wasn’t allowed to attend the match; Snape had made him chop up flobberworms all afternoon.

While Snape probably thought this was a great way to punish him, Harry was secretly glad about it. Not the flobberworms, of course, they were rather disgusting; he was glad about having a reason to stay away from the match. Even if he did love Quidditch and felt guilty for not being there to support Ron, it was not something of import to him at the moment. Quidditch had become unimportant and childish. Harry really hoped, his way of thinking about things wouldn’t last long; but right now, he couldn’t muster any energy or motivation for anything not related to the war or one of his other problems.

There was also the danger of another attacked by angry students. Being in such a crowd and surrounded by loud noise it would present the perfect opportunity.

Gryffindor won the match. The others had told him, Malfoy had completely bodged up his job as a seeker. Apparently, he’d seemed distracted and hadn’t even realized Ginny had spotted the Snitch until after she had caught it. Most of Gryffindor thanked Malfoy after the match and he was the laughing stock for quite some time. Malfoy didn’t even care about it much – or at least no more than to sneer at whoever made a comment.

Harry was angry at Snape for allowing Malfoy to play, while he himself was not allowed out of detention – even if it had resulted in Gryffindor winning. He was also still curious what the two Slytherins had decided to do; but Snape made it clear that this was none of Harry’s concern.

Malfoy was also still a total prat to Harry and his friends, at least in front of everyone else. Still, things between them seemed to have changed. The old animosity was definitely gone and they almost got along without snapping at each other. But just almost, because the previous five years didn’t disappear overnight. And if he was honest, Harry also needed those little fights to be able to vent some of his frustration.

The second reason why Harry was angry at both Snape and Malfoy was, that the man only ever criticised what Harry did, while Malfoy’s work – which looked exactly the same as Harry’s – seemed perfectly all right (well, except one time, when Harry figured out thanks to the Half-Blood-Prince that he needed to cut the Aconite roots lengthwise and not into small chunks. But that was a honest mistake and only that one time...). Harry’s bad conscience toward the man had changed his opinion about him a great deal. He knew that this didn’t automatically work both ways, but it was still discouraging.

When Gryffindor threw a party in the tower after their victory, Harry was _still_ in detention (because Snape wasn’t satisfied with his work, as usually). Lavender snogged Ron in front of everyone, which resulted in them becoming a couple – Harry suspected all the adrenaline or the Butterbeer had an important part to play in this. When he later that week tried to get out of Ron what he saw in the girl, Ron couldn’t give him one thing to mention. It was hopeless. And Hermione was jealous and furious of course, and decided out of spite, to go to the Slug-party with Cormac, a guy who Ron didn’t get along with at all.

Harry tried to stay out of the thing as much as possible, even if he thought they both were behaving utterly ridiculous. He asked Luna on one of her shifts of Harry-watching if she would go to the party with him. Thankfully, she said yes and agreed, that they would only go as friends and nothing else.

***

In the first week of December, Ginny cornered Harry late at night in the common room. She sat close down closely beside him and he scooted over a bit, uncomfortable with the way she was smiling at him.

“What are you doing” She combed through her hair with her fingers. “Isn’t it a bit late for homework?”

“I had detention all weekend, so I have to catch up”, he lied and tried to concentrate on the notes of the Half-Blood-Prince.

Ron and Lavender were snogging nearby. Harry wondered if they made this much noise on purpose.

“Oh.” Ginny put her hand on his arm. “Well, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

Realizing that he wouldn’t easily get out of this one, he closed his book and turned to face her, moving his arm away. “Sure, what’s up?”

Ginny looked hurt, but hid it quickly. “It’s about the Slug-party...”

A blush spread across her cheeks and Harry groaned inwardly. Crap. This was going to be _so_ awkward. Even if he _did_ like girly, which by now he was certain he didn’t, there was no way he would go with his best friend’s little sister. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he knew he’d never ever think of her than more than a friend.

When he said nothing, she asked, beet red in the face, “Do you already have someone you go with?”

“Uh, yeah...” He didn’t want to see her disappointment and turned his gaze away. Seeing Ron and Lavender on the other side of the room nearly crawling into one another didn’t help, and Harry felt himself turn red, too. “Me and Luna go together – as friends.”

“Oh.”

The loud snogging-noises didn’t do the uncomfortable silence any good.  

After some time, Harry felt he’d been decent enough and stood. “I’ll... uhm, I’ll just go up to the dorms then... long day tomorrow.”

“Sure. Good night, Harry.” Ginny smiled at him, but it was strained.

He mumbled his own good-night and fled as fast as he could. Girls were just, just... beyond comprehension.

***


	13. Slug Party

Learning how to live, chapter 13 – Slug Party

\--The world of Harry Potter with all its wonderful characters belongs to JK Rowling. –

***

The Slug-Party was on the last Friday before Yule holidays started. It was already past seven when Harry and Hermione finally left the tower, meaning they were late. They both were in a bad mood and Harry thought the evening could only end as a disaster.

He was wearing the robes Neville had lent him, and the expensive cloths felt strange and unfamiliar on his skin. Even shrinking hadn’t managed to make them fit perfectly, but since he was used to wearing to cloths six time his size, these posed no problem for him. 

They met Luna and Cormac at the entrance to the guest-rooms Slughorn used for the event. Mistletoes, Ribbons in red and gold, and fairy lights decorated the corridor. The portraits had been taken down and relocated, as had the armours and statues. It almost looked like an entirely different place, were it not for the stone walls and vaulted ceiling.

Cormac was standing beside the entrance door, sniffing disdainfully and keeping safe distance from Luna. When they arrived, he fixed his demeanour and grinned broadly at Hermione.

She shot Harry a panicked look. “Why don’t we all go in together? Then we won’t look like we’re all late...”

Luna skipped over to Harry and took his hand in hers, smiling happily. “I don’t mind people thinking we’re late. It’s nearly new moon, after all.”

“What?” Cormac’s expression wobbled a bit, then he laughed. “Uh, sure. Come on, Hermione, I want to introduce you to some acquaintances of my father.”

Harry couldn’t help himself and winked at Hermione. “Yeah, go on you two, I’m sure we’ll meet up later.”

She shot him an evil glare and then was dragged away by Cormac.

Luna looked after them and hummed. “Hermione doesn’t look so happy with him.”

“Uh, yeah...” Harry tried to calm himself and was glad for Luna’s cool hand in his. He looked at her and noticed her attire, which was weirder than usual. He couldn’t identify neither the glittery material of the dress, nor that of her necklace or the strings she’d woven into her hair. All in all, it looked fascinating.

It appeared she didn’t really care about traditions; Harry was thankful for that. “Nice dress, Luna.”

“Thank you, Harry. I made it myself.” She rocked back and forth on her feet. “Shall we go inside then?”

Harry nodded, took a deep breath and tried his best to lead Luna in a polite manner into the room. After a few steps, his sleeve got tangled in the decorations on the door frame, making him stagger. He closed his eyes and suppressed the impulse to either swear or run.

Luna didn’t seem to mind and bent over to entangle the buttons of his sleeve from the gold-wire. “Did you know that the waning moon brings bad luck for some people? You must be one of them – you will have to watch out on Christmas day when its new moon.”

People Harry had never seen before were observing them with bewilderment and curiosity. That Luna’s behaviour was even more peculiar then his almost non-existent knowledge of etiquette, was comforting. “Huh. Thanks Luna, I’ll be careful.”

As soon as they made it further into the room, Slughorn spotted them and scurried over to them. He was wearing an abominable green waistcoat that highlighted his enormous middle.

“Harry Potter, my young friend! And Miss Lovegood!”, he greeted them with his booming voice, and put an arm around Harry’s shoulders, making him squirm.

At least this excused Harry from making the traditional bow – Neville had said that Harry should try to avoid that anyway; he didn’t have it down yet, and made it look rather like an opening to a duel than a polite greeting. “Hullo, Sir. Thank you for the invitation.”

“Of course, my boy, you’re welcome! I’m glad you’re here.” Slughorn winked at him. “I was already beginning to fear you wouldn’t make it anymore.”

“Uh, sorry, I was a bit–“

“It’s nearly full moon, so Harry attracts bad luck”, chirped Luna, while ogling the other end of the room where a pale man stood, resembling a Vampire quite a lot.

A sullen looking fourth-year, dressed in a horrible gold-green suit, walked past with a tray in his hand. Slughorn took two glasses of a light-coloured, bubbly drink and handed them to Luna and Harry. “Here you go my friends!”

Luna nodded politely and took a sip. “Thank you, it’s lovely.”

Harry took the glass with some trepidation, nearly dropping it when he felt the glass against his skin. His hand was shaking and the liquid sloshed over the rim. “Uh, I– I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude, but I probably–“

Noticing his predicament, Luna plucked the glass from his hands and drank it down in one go. “This really is tasty – Are there any more drinks, Professor Slughorn?”

Slughorn blinked at her. “Of course, my dear, of course. You shouldn’t drink too much, however – the headmaster wouldn’t be happy with me if you got drunk.”

Harry saw this as his chance to escape. “I’ll just go and get us something else?”

“Oh, nonsense, my boy. You’re a guest here!”, boomed Slughorn and started to drag Harry along towards a group of students and grownups, the latter all dressed in expensive clothes that screamed _Very Important_. Harry held on to Luna’s hand as if his life depended on it.

“I must introduce you to some friends of mine – they are very eager to make the acquaintance of the Boy Who Lived.”

Harry gave his best to turn his groan into a sound of which he hoped sounded positive and interested. Slughorn didn’t notice, but Luna chuckled.

The group of Very Important People turned out to be not just boring and dislikeable, but also the very group of people Cormac tried to impress. Hermione looked positively nauseous while he was bragging to a member of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, about how his uncle always went hunting with Fudge. “... so, the Minister will visit us over the holidays again.”

“Enjoying yourself, I see, Mr McLaggen?” Slughorn pushed Harry into the circle of people. “Surely you two know each other already? Mr Potter, these are Miss Granger and Mr McLaggen, his uncle Tiberius works at the Ministry, Miss Weasley whose father works at the Ministry as well, I believe...?” Ginny nodded and blushed. “And her friend...?”

“Dean Thomas, Sir.”

“Ah yes, Mr Thomas.” He seemed unsure of what to say to that and covered it by gesturing towards the adults. “Mr Barnabas Cuffe, editor of the Daly Prophet, Emilia Rousseau, she’s working for the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Damocles Belby, the inventor of the Wolfsbane potion, and Dirk Cresswell, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office.”

Harry and Luna nodded politely at the people. Thankfully Neville had explained to him that greeting people with a handshake was a very Muggle thing to do.

Slughorn laughed loudly, he visibly enjoyed being in control of this little social gathering. “I’m sure I don’t have to introduce Mr Potter, you all will have heard about him!”

The adults nodded politely back at Harry and Cormac beamed, “Of course; Harry, my friend!” He turned back to address Emilia Rousseau. “We play Quidditch together sometimes, but unfortunately I don’t have time to play for the team – too many other obligations, you see.”

Ginny barely covered her snort and mumbled, “You didn’t make it on the team because you weren’t good enough.”

The round man, Harry had already forgotten if he was from the Goblin Liaison Office or the Prophet, laughed at this. “Things here at Hogwarts are still the same, I see! You’re all in sixth year, I assume?”

“No, I’m in my last year and Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood are in their fifth”, Cormac explained hastily, puffing out his breast.

Harry thought that he gave off the impression of a well-trained dog. Hermione looked like she wanted to sink into the floor and he sent her a sympathetic smile.

“How very delightful”, smirked the Lady from International Cooperation and winked at Harry. “What courses did you chose?”

Trying to take part in the conversation and sensing an opportunity, he answered, “Most of us take all the core courses – our new Defence Professor, Leo Rousseau; is there any chance he’s related to you?”

She frowned for a moment. “Yes, I believe there is a Leo Rousseau in the French branch of the family, but I don’t think I’ve ever met him...”

“Professor Slughorn; is that Mr Worple over there?”, Luna suddenly asked, sounding very excited.

Slughorn looked around for a second until he spotted two men in the corner of the room, one very nervous and the other very grumpy. “Oh, you mean Eldred? Yes, that’s him, my dear, and his friend, Sanguini.”

“How wonderful!” She excused herself and made her way over to the man.

Mr Belby cleared his throat. “So, you all take NEWTs in Potions? You must be a strong class this year; I heard Mr Snape’s terms of admission are very harsh.”

“They were changed at the beginning of this year”, explained Hermione and then blushed, when people turned towards her. “The terms of admission are not that strict anymore, so more students got in...”

Dean grinned and shoved Harry with his elbow. “Yeah, Harry’s really glad about that, right?”

“Ha! yeah, sure”, Harry grumbled.

“You don’t like potions?”, asked Belby disappointed.

“Well...”

“He’s actually gotten quite good, this year, right, Harry?”, Hermione interrupted him and sent him a glare. “He’s one of the best students.”

Right, he was here to befriend Slughorn. It would be a bad idea to appear uninterested in the man’s subject.

“What do your parents do, Miss Granger?”, inquired Mr Cresswell, his expression cold. “They’re Muggels, right?”

Hermione turned bright red. “Ah yes. They are dentists.”

“Dentists?”, echoed Miss Rousseau confused.

“They tend to people’s teeth.”

“How very intriguing!” Rousseau seemed fascinated. “Is that a dangerous profession in the Muggle world?”

“Well, not usually... although one time, this little boy, Robbie Fenwick, bit my father. He needed ten stitches.” When people looked at her with confused faces, she blushed again and elaborated, “In the Muggel world, they stitch together certain wounds, so they heal faster.”

This made Rousseau look a bit faint and she fanned herself with her hand. Cormac on the other hand, tried to hide his horror by turning away, managing to bump into Snape and spill his drink over his shoes. There was an awkward silence, then Dean burst into hysterical laughter.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek in his effort not to grin.

“Ah, Severus!”, exclaimed Slughorn, trying to save the situation, and spelled Snape’s robes clean. “How wonderful of you to join us!”

Snape’s hand twitched as if he was about to draw his wand, but Slughorn didn’t register that and beamed at the other man. “We were just talking about your classes!”

This made the other Professor turn his attention to the students. “Is that so.”

“I’ve just been told that our young Harry Potter is not only famous for his battles against You Know Who, but that he’s also very talented at potions!” Slughorn gestured vaguely into the direction of Hermione, who shrunk in on herself, looking nauseous. “What a delight – You must be proud to teach such an important student, Severus!”

Dean had the sense to try to muffle his snorts but wasn’t very successful. The adults looked curiously between him and Harry.

“Uh, I’m not–“

“Nonsense, nonsense, my boy! No need to for modesty here!” Slughorn clapped him on his back and Harry spluttered. “We all know that you will surely make it far in your career!”  

Snape watched Hermione squirm for long seconds, then turned to Harry and fixed him with his stare. Just for a moment, Harry thought he saw the dark eyes glance at Slughorn’s arm around his shoulder and twitch in annoyance. He felt his face heat up.

“I, uh... Ah, there is Luna, I should...” Harry mumbled something unintelligible, ducked away from under Slughorn’s arm and hastily fled.

He hid behind one of the long green curtains lining the walls and took a deep breath. If things continued like this, he would not only fail in befriending Slughorn, but also make a complete fool out of himself in front of everyone.

Why the hell was Snape here?

_And why in Merlin’s name do you care?!_

After long minutes, he managed to calm down. He left his hiding place, determined to avoid Snape, and wineglasses, and everything else that would mean more trouble.

Harry survived the next hour of exhausting small talk without any weird occurrences, and even endured a chat with Slughorn for more than ten minutes. It seemed, he wasn’t so utterly hopeless at this stuff after all. The professor was tipsy already, which may have made things easier, but Harry managed to find out that he had known his mother. When Slughorn realized how interested he was in stories about her, he invited Harry to tea on Christmas afternoon, so they’d have more time to talk.

Harry was just about to congratulate himself for this success, when he stumbled into Filch, who was dragging Malfoy into the rooms by his collar.

He fell to the floor in an inelegant manner, dragging attention to them. People stared and whispered.

The caretaker showed his yellow teeth in a grin. “Professor Slughorn? I found this one sneaking about in the corridor!”

“I wasn’t _sneaking_ you cretin!”, snarled Malfoy and tried to get free of the hand grabbing him.

“Now, now, Argus, I’m sure Mr Malfoy just wanted to join the party.” Slughorn held out a hand to Harry and helped him up. “Are you all right, Mr Potter?”

“Uh, yeah sure, I’m fine.” He took a step back when Slughorn tried to dust off his robes.

And then Snape was suddenly beside them. “What is going on here?”

“Young Mr Malfoy got caught being outside after curfew”, chuckled Slughorn. “I’m sure he just wanted to join us, right, Mr Malfoy?”

“He doesn’t have an invitation!”, grumbled Filch and shook the boy, as if afraid he would lose his prey.

Had Malfoy tried something again? Harry wondered what the hell he was up to now, and tried to catch his eye with a questioning look. The blonde sneered contemptuously back at him.

Right. He’d promised – and Slytherin’s never took well to being suspected of breaking their word, much like Gryffindors.

“It that so, Mr Malfoy?”, Snape enquired, his voice low and dangerous.

Harry straightened his back. “He’s with me.”

This was met with a strained silence.

When everyone around him stared like Harry had lost his mind, he added, “What? The invitations said we could bring someone, so I asked him.”

Malfoy lifted his head, trying his best to look proud and composed. “He did. Now let go of me, you filthy–“

“ _Mr Malfoy_ ”, Snape hissed. He grabbed the boy and then turned to Harry. “Both of you, with me. Now.”

***

 “You will stop insulting people, Draco. Is that clear?” Snape stood behind his desk and stared down at Malfoy.

The blonde crossed his arms. “I’m not letting anyone treat me like I’m some common–“

“Enough!”, Snape snarled and slammed his hand on the table, making both boys wince. “You will not disrespect me, or any other adult for that matter! Your father is in Azkaban, you ignorant child – there is no one protecting you from the consequences of your insolence.”

“I don’t need anyone’s protection!”, Malfoy shouted back.

Harry ducked his head and wondered why the hell he was here.

“Grow up, boy! Do you think people respect you like this? Because your name is Malfoy?” Snape snorted contemptuously. “No one cares about that name – not anymore. Your family has no more power. Use your brain, Draco; you need to earn people’s respect for who you are. Show them your intelligence and cunning. Your childish behaviour will only make them compare you to your father. If you wish to have any chance to come out of this whole mess unscathed, you will learn to control yourself.”

Malfoy trembled and Harry expected him to scream at Snape. But he didn’t. Instead he took a step back and said in a quiet voice, “My father doesn’t deserve to be in Azkaban. He isn’t...”

“He is not what?”, sneered Snape. “A Death Eater? I can assure you, he is. You have no idea of the things he has done.”

“He’s not cruel! He would never do such things!”

Harry stared at his feet, remembering what had happened in the Department of Mysteries. Sure, Lucius Malfoy was not the most vicious of them, but he supported Voldemort, there was no doubt about that.

When Snape answered, his voice was cold. “Your ignorance is disappointing. I expect more of you, Draco.”

Draco looked like he was about to burst into tears and Harry wanted to say something, anything, because Snape was just too cruel. “Why do you think–“

“Silence, Potter!”, spat Snape. “You will wait your turn – oh yes, don’t look so surprised. Behaving like utter fools, the both of you! Do you think this will have no consequences?”

Harry blinked at Snape, taken aback by the man’s rage. What the hell? He didn’t do anything! Well, except help out Draco – but that was none of Snape’s business!

“You may think you know my father Severus, but why would he tell you the truth when you were lying the whole time?” Malfoy seemed to have found some courage in the fact that he wasn’t the only one getting a dressing-down, and straightened up. “Just because he hates Dumbledore, that doesn’t mean he truly supports the Dark Lord!”

“Obviously he doesn’t just grovel before the Dark Lord. He has his own agenda like every one of the Death Eaters, thinking he can gain power by following the side he thinks will win. But does that excuse him doing the things the Dark Lord tells him to?” Snape looked pained and the lines around his mouth built a harsh frown, making him look older then he was. “You gave me your word to stay out of these matters Draco. Since you broke it, you leave me no choice. From now on, until I say otherwise, you’re forbidden to leave the castle. No Quidditch, no Hogsmeade weekends. You will not leave Slytherin’s rooms except for classes and meals. If you want to spend an evening outside of the common room you’re welcome to do so, here in detention.”

Uh-oh, Harry thought. That sounded an awful lot like his own punishment for the pensive incident. But it was obvious that Snape was just trying to protect Malfoy.

Malfoy glared at Snape, his hands balled to fists. “You may be my Head of House, but you’re not my father!”

“Thank Merlin for that.” Snape was not impressed and turned his contempt to Harry. “And as for you Mr Potter. Since I get the impression that it is impossible to teach you even a modicum of common sense, I wonder what I should do with you.”

Harry gulped. “Sir? I don’t really know what you’re talking about.“

“How dare you–“

“Severus!”, Malfoy shouted, much to the surprise of the two others. “I think Potter truly has no idea of what he did.” He turned to Harry. “You have no idea about customs, right? Is that why your manners are so atrocious?”

The way he said it made it obvious that he wasn’t trying to insult Harry but was just stating a fact. Harry felt himself blush in embarrassment. “Shut it Malfoy! I grew up with Muggles, you jerk; how am I supposed to know this stuff?!”

“You grew up with Muggles?” Malfoy was visibly taken aback by that. “ _Why_?”

“What do you mean, _why_?” Harry clenched his fists and tried to rein his anger. “My parents are dead in case you’re forgotten!”

Malfoy clicked his tongue. “Don’t get your kni– ah… I mean, I didn’t mean to insult you or anything. It’s just; you’re Harry Potter. So why in Merlin’s name would you grow up with _Muggles_?”

Harry blinked. What the hell did he want to hear? “Because they’re my relatives?”

This made the other pause and a calculating look crossed his face. “Did Dumbledore put you there?”

“I think so? But why does it matter?” He still had no idea what Malfoy was on about and wondered if this were his prejudice against Muggles or Dumbledore talking.

“It does not”, Snape interrupted. “However, Mr Malfoy may be right and you do have no idea of what you’ve done.”

The way he stared at him, made Harry wonder if he was using Legilimency, but he didn’t feel any intrusion. “Well, no. I mean, I do not.”

Snape sighed. “You have more or less declared your loyalty to Mr Malfoy. In front of a room of very important people. Doesn’t this strike you as a problematic considering the Dark Lord thinks Mr Malfoy is working for him?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t.” Harry furrowed his brow. “I just said that I invited him. Which, by the way, everyone knows is a lie because I went with Luna.”

“That’s not the point.” Malfoy shook his head, but his eyes glittered with humour. “The fact that you spoke up for me, makes it obvious that we’re not enemies. And as for your assertion; are you even aware, that most people are going to think we’re gay? Not that I mind, but since you’re so oblivious…”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”, he croaked.

“It’s the way you said it; that I’m with you”, Malfoy explained, smirking at Harry’s horror. “You didn’t say that you invited me or something like that. It sounded rather… possessive?”

“Oh.” The floor began to spin and he grabbed a hold of the edge of the desk. “Fuck.”

Snape didn’t rebuke him for his language for once. “No need to be melodramatic, Potter – hardly anyone will believe that. The problem with your declaration of loyalty is far more dire.”

Harry swallowed the horrible feeling in his throat. Then he took a deep breath. And cleared his throat. And gulped again. “Yeah. All right. Well… can’t we just say that I owed Malfoy a favour or something?”

“Are you actually gay?”, Malfoy enquired curiously.

“No!”, he denied forcefully, staring wide eyed at Malfoy. What if everyone thought that now? How was he supposed to prove the opposite? He didn’t have a girlfriend or anything… he could of course get together with Ginny, but that would be too cruel.

_Or you could just admit it…_

That wasn’t really an option though, right? Not if he didn’t want… what? Be looked down upon? People thinking he was a freak? This was the wizarding world; things were different here. Sure, there were people who had a problem with this, but not nearly as many as in the Muggle world.

He _could_ just tell the truth. That didn’t mean Dursleys would know about it. Better go to go through this now, then lying to everyone and admit it later on…

“Potter?” Malfoy sounded concerned, which was bizarre enough to interrupt his train of thought. Snape too, was looking at him in a strange way.

“Uh. Well.” He inhaled shakily. “I’m not sure, actually– no, that’s wrong. I just… I mean, yeah, I am. But no one knows so far, so that’s going to be… weird.”

Malfoy looked at him disparagingly and Harry tried to brace himself for whatever insult would come his way. But Malfoy only asked, “Why would anyone care? Is that another Muggle thing?”

Harry nodded weakly, unable to speak. This way harder than he’d thought. He couldn’t distinguish what he was feeling, just that it was a lot. His emotions were building up inside him, making him feel nauseous.

He took a deep breath and tried to shut it all out. Occlumency really would be useful, sometimes. He took another breath and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to ground himself.

He was in Hogwarts, in the dungeons. The only people with him were two Slytherins who didn’t care if Harry bloody Potter was gay. They were not as prejudiced as Muggles. For them, he was the Gryffindor Golden Boy, and everything else didn’t matter. Besides, it was the truth. He wasn’t a coward; he’d been shunned for worse and survived. There was no need to be ashamed of this.

It worked, somewhat at least.

He looked up and saw Snape observing him. There was no disgust or ridicule in those eyes, so that was at least something.

Malfoy seemed torn between confusion and amusement about Harry’s reaction.

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Snape leaned back in his chair. “As for your idea to pretend that Mr Malfoy owns you a favour, that won’t work. It was obvious that the two of you don’t have the same animosity between you anymore.”

“How about I tell Slytherin that I managed to manipulate him into trusting me?” Malfoy grinned. “It would be easy to blame it on the foolish nature of a Gryffindor.”

Snape was not convinced. “And what will you do if the Dark Lord asks you to lure Potter out of the castle?”

Harry didn’t say anything, glad that the two of them were not paying much attention to him.

“Then Potter can either suddenly start to distrust me again, or I will have to flee. If the Dark Lord demands I complete my other task, I have to do this anyway.” The blonde looked a bit pale at that thought.

After considering things for long minutes, Snape agreed. “Very well. But don’t overdo it. As for you Mr Potter; you will go along with this. If your Head of House or the headmaster warn you not to trust Mr Malfoy, you will tell them, that you are trying to turn him. If they say this is impossible, you will insist for a bit and then cave in.”

He nodded. This would be easy compared to face his friends. He didn’t think that Malfoy was right about people thinking that they were a couple. Especially Hermione and Ron knew very well, that Harry often spoke without thinking. But there would be jokes. Followed by questions. He wanted to be honest, he really did.

But what would the other boys say?

He didn’t think Hermione would care much. Ginny would be disappointed, but maybe she’d finally give up on him. But Ron… well, Ron was complicated. He’d either understand it and support Harry, or throw another tantrum like in fourth year. Harry could probably count on Hermione to help him with Ron. Neville would be no problem since the boy was pure-blood. Dean and Seamus on the other hand... he wasn’t sure about Dean, who seemed to joke around a lot, but wasn’t actually prejudiced. Seamus was. A lot. Harry could only hope, things wouldn’t turn too nasty.

When Snape finally let them leave, Harry made his way to the tower on unsteady legs. It was late enough that he could hope for people to be asleep already. And most of them would go home over the Yule holidays, while Harry would stay here. So, it would only be tomorrow morning during breakfast Harry had to face them.

He could easily say goodbye to Ron and Hermione in private and avoid everyone else. But he wasn’t sure, if this was a good thing or not. While things could calm down over the next two weeks and he was relieved to for the delay, he also knew that he’d have only one chance to talk to his friends. He needed to tell them before they heard from someone else. And Harry was sure, by tomorrow, most of Slytherin would know.

Maybe that was even good; it would force him to be honest for once.

Then he remembered something else, feeling guilty. He’d have to apologize to Luna for leaving her alone at the party like that.

And to Slughorn probably as well, if he wanted to stay on the man’s good side.

He sighed. Why couldn’t things ever be simple?

***

As always: thanks for reading and please tell me what you think :)


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